POV: Cynthia / LOCATION: [classified]
A few days later, I visit Cyrus again.
Today, he can pass as a ghost. The shadows under his eyes stretch to his chin, and the only thing that holds him up is the back of that chair.
Regardless, he greets me as if it's just another day of my barging into his office: a wry little smirk and an invitation to sit.
Jupiter's words float back to me. Truly, Cyrus does look worse each time I see him. His attitude tells a different story, however.
"Good morning," he croaks.
"It's afternoon."
"Ah. In any case, I do appreciate your company, Cynthia. How can I be of use?"
I just realize how this room lacks a clock. No windows either. All notion of time has been stripped away.
"How much do they let you know about the outside world?" I say.
Cyrus raises a brow. "As much as I need to know… which isn't much. I am a known terrorist, after all. Why that question?"
"How much do you know about your old team?"
His expression darkens. "With what you've told me, I know that Charon has taken over Galactic… Ah, about that favor. What did you find out?"
I look at him directly as I recount my experiences at Neo Galactic HQ. His mask remains relatively unchanged, but it's his eyes that betray the turbulent sea of emotions bubbling from underneath. By the time I tell him that Charon was basically harassing Jupiter into staying, I swear that there's a raging blizzard in this very room.
To simply put it, Cyrus is livid. Forget how he looks like death. If I turn away, he'll tear off his restrains with his teeth.
"Thank you."
"F-For what?"
"For upholding your end of the bargain."
"What will you do to Charon?" I squeak.
Cyrus gives me a chilling smile. That's all I get from him regarding this matter. Deep in my heart, I wonder if I've made the right choice in actually helping Cyrus, the same man I helped put away. He just wanted information though. It's not like he asked me to assassinate Charon.
"Has anyone from Galactic visited you?" I say.
"No."
"Why?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Why are you such a fucking hypocrite? Jupiter told me that you forbade anyone from your old team to see you. And yet you tell me to check in on them. I'm not your little errand girl."
Cyrus rolls his eyes. "So what if I did limit my visitors? That matter does not concern you."
"They're worried about you! You're also worried about them—"
"What nonsense are you spouting on about? If you wish to continue making baseless assumptions, then I think it's time for you to leave, Champion."
I mirror his hostile glare. "I think I should. But you still owe me a favor, and you're going to live up to your promise."
And for the first time in my life, Cyrus hesitates.
"What do you want?" he grunts.
With a strained smile, I put the container of food on the table. Steam wafts out when I open the lid. Inside lies a bed of white rice topped with steamed vegetables and thinly cut meat.
A monstrous groan rips from under the table. Cyrus immediately yanks his gaze away.
"So you wish to bribe me with food," he mutters.
"It smells soooo good," I say. "Do you want some?"
His mumbling is drowned out by his stomach's answer.
I shake my head in shame. "It's getting cold. Gee, I hate cold food. I'll have to throw it away then, if no one eats it—"
"Fine! If you don't want it, then I'll dispose of it for you. Just… don't waste food."
With a saccharine smile do I slowly nudge the thermos toward his direction. Note how his chin quivers at the sight of hot food. I almost feel sorry for the pasty bastard.
"Thank you," he says under his breath.
His genuine humility surprises me. "You should thank Jupiter," I say. "She's the one who made this and asked me to give it to you since you're being such a huge prick."
As soon as those words leave my mouth, I feel like I've made a huge mistake. Cyrus's back snaps up, and he pulls away his hands before they even touch the container.
"Prison policy bars inmates from receiving homemade objects," he declares with a triumphant smirk. "That extends to food, Cynthia. Kindly tell Jupiter that she wasted her time."
Great. He'd regained his ground. I worked so hard to chip off his defenses only for him to bounce back, a bigger hemorrhoid in the ass than ever.
It pains me to do so, but I dump the untouched food in the nearby trash bin. I have to show him that I mean business.
As I expected, he gasps. "What in the world are you doing?! It was still edible—"
"I'm the one asking questions," I snap. "Firstly, your end of the bargain: I want you to tell me the truth and nothing but the truth. Are we clear?"
Cyrus regards me with a furious, sleepy glare as if he's seeing someone else in my place. Then he nods, although reluctantly.
This is good. I feel like I'm in control. Gotta keep up the momentum.
"My Pokemon," I begin. "You didn't steal them?"
"No, I did not."
Damn. He's not displaying the classical symptoms of lying so common in crime fiction.
"Then who did?"
"I do not know. I swear on my life that I was and am not the culprit."
Stalemate. Okay, here goes the next question.
"That remote you had in your hand. Was it really a bomb?"
For the second time, Cyrus hesitates.
"Yes or no?" I press.
"No." Barely there, that answer.
"So it was a bluff?"
"Hmmph."
I slap my palm on the table. "Yes or no?!"
"Y-Yes! Stop doing that!"
I do it again to exert my dominance. When he finally lifts his head, his pupils have dilated to black moons.
I lower my voice. "Why would you bluff like that? You were asking to be shot."
He shrugs, as if tempting death was the least of his concerns. "You are still alive. As I've told the detective, final gambits are a necessary evil. Next question."
Calm down, Cynthia. Don't lose your temper over him.
"My memories," I say.
"What about them?"
"Were you responsible for my memory loss?"
And he gnashes his teeth as if I'd fed him poison. "Don't be ridiculous! What would I benefit from hurting you?"
I lean closer. "The timing is awfully convenient if you ask me. I lose my memories after our little skirmish at Celestic Town. You were the last person to see me and the first person I saw upon waking up."
Cyrus doubles down with a scowl. "How dare you accuse me of stooping so low... I had nothing to do with your amnesia, Champion."
"Promise?"
"Yes."
"Swear on your life? Cross your heart and hope to die?"
"Yes."
Oh Cyrus… You fucking pathological liar. Your life must mean shit to you then. If that's the case, then what's stopping me from sticking a needle in your eye?
I hold his gaze as I produce my trump card, something I had snuck out of the evidence room. "We found this in your Laboratory. You built this, yes? What is it?"
"Of course I built it! It's my memory erasure—"
And he blanches. I lunge for his collar. The stationed officer sees this but remains behind the glass.
"It's not what you think!" he blurts.
"Then do enlighten me as to what I should be thinking."
"C-Cynthia, please—"
My temper thinning, I haul Cyrus out of his chair, slamming him against the wall so he can't weasel his way out of this one.
"Memory erasure," I hiss. "I have your confession recorded on tape. You gave me your word you wouldn't lie to my face! What else have you lying about?!"
"But… I…"
"What's stopping you from spilling the truth? Tell me, you fucking sociopath!"
Cyrus chokes out a strangled scream. That's when I realize that what I grabbed wasn't his collar: I've been holding up him by his throat, unconsciously crushing it while I spat into his face… which has turned a deathly shade of blue. Shock finally wears off, and I wrench my grip back for him to drop to the floor like a broken doll.
As Cyrus lies sputtering and wheezing, the guards rush in to scrape him off the floor.
"We'll handle this," they tell me. In other words, they want me to fucking leave.
Which I do. I spin on my heel and stomp out of the interrogation room. Only after I'm worlds away from the prison does a thought strike my brain.
Before the officers hauled him away, our gazes had met. And in his was horror, raw fear directed at… me. He stared at me as if I about to kill him again, this time for good.