Chapter 11
The Colours of the Empire
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20:05, June 4, Unified Year 4734 – Empire of the New Order, District Fourteen, Winteroot outskirts, Home (?)
. . . . .
I'm home.
Or, what's left of it anyways.
To be honest, I'm not really sure what I was expecting prior to coming up here. The last that I saw of my house was the day the Frontier Massacre began, when my home was lit ablaze by the workings of, what I now know were an elite division of Imperial Stormtroopers.
Seeing that the whole house had caved in, and that it was located in a rather remote part of the town's outskirts, I had originally anticipated that the new owners of the town would just leave the rubble and ruins of my house as it was. But now that I've seen what they've done with the rest of the town, I began to suspect that they might have in fact completely cleared the house away, or worse, replaced it with one of those hideous concrete blocks.
But I certainly wasn't expecting what they've actually done with it. It's not like I could see just what sort of a state my old house was when looking at it from a distance, either. For one, its location atop the hill makes it somewhat difficult to spot from downtown, and the fact that the sun had set by now meant that all I could really see was a dark, murky silhouette. So, it's not until I've gone all the way up the winding road up the hill and reached my home that I notice they've completely rebuilt it.
No, perhaps rebuilt is a little too generous. Perhaps saying that it was simply hastily repaired would be more accurate. The scars left behind from the day I escaped are still painfully visible, the markings clear and fresh if they had been made just yesterday. The brick walls, once a beautiful shade of red, were now completely black, the colours having all but disappeared as a result of the burnt char that the fire had left behind.
Bringing my eyes up from the ground floor, I looked up towards the upper corners of the house, the paint still faintly visible near the top. I suppose most of the fire damage was restricted to the lower floor, seeing that the fire had started, and I assume was kept, within the confines of the living room. From here, I can see the window to my old bedroom, the glass smashed out and the lights turned off. It's a little hard, given by the quickly setting darkness of the spring evening, but I can just about make out the dusty room within. From what little I can see from my position, it looks like someone's been in there since I've been gone.
But that's not what surprised me. Despite the fire, the section of my house where my bedroom was located was left relatively untouched by the destructive hands of the Imperial Stormtroopers. It's the other side of the house, where the living room and kitchen was, that surprised me.
That's mostly because of the state of the roof. Or, perhaps, more accurately, it's the fact that there even is a roof. Instead of being left as a giant pile of rubble, the entire section had been rebuilt. The collapsed roof, in particular, stood out with jarring effect, having been replaced with one that shone, sparkling under the glow of the night sky in a way that only something new ever could.
But despite that, it would be hard pressed to call this a particularly beautiful roof. As a matter of fact, I think it looks horrendous. Despite the way that it glimmered under the soothing moonlight, it's obvious that this roof doesn't really belong atop this house. It looks cheap, like it was made with little care, and seemingly stuck on with little thought for aesthetic continuity. In short, it barely resembles the roof that it replaced.
I closed my eyes and let out a long, drawn out sigh. Behind closed eyelids, I can see the events that befell upon this house with vivid clarity. In the midst of all that furious fire on that fateful day, I can see the roof caving in just moments after escaping this house in that escape pod, the ear-splitting crack echoing through the open air like a slaver's whip as the structure collapsed upon itself…
…Collapse right into the living room, crushing my dad before my very eyes…
"Shit… I'm sorry, Kit."
My eyes opened again upon hearing Clay's voice reach out to me, tearing me from my haunted memories. Glancing over towards him, I notice an apologetic, stunned look in his eyes as he stared at the house before us. Having been with him for the past day, it seemed incredulous to think that he was capable of making such a face, and that the look he was pulling off was, if anything, nothing more than an act. But there was a genuineness in his eyes that told me otherwise.
It takes me a moment to realise, but I think I can understand what Clay's feeling, and why he's feeling that way. Because, out of all the other residents that used to live here in Winteroot town, Clay would by far be the one who had most often come to visit my home.
My memory as to when he started to visit is a little blurry. Maybe it was because I was so young, or maybe it was because I was so ill. But regardless of how it all started, the fact was that, during my early childhood years when I was sickly and bedridden, Clay would often come up to my home to visit me since I most definitely couldn't visit him myself.
So often he would do so, in fact, that he would oftentimes come to visit three or four times a week, and would continue to do so until my early teenage years, when I was finally healthy enough to leave the confines of my own bedroom without collapsing or fainting.
It's all a little curious to me as to why he chose to do this. For starters, I doubt that spending hours of his time with an Eevee that would faint the moment she left her bed was any fun for him at all. And it's not like he was forced to come here, either. As a matter of fact, I don't recall having ever asked him to come visit me during those times. And yet he still came on his own volition, unprompted by me to make the slow climb up the hill to my isolated home. And though I don't recall everything that we had done together during those times, I still fondly remember having cherished each and every time he came to visit.
So, in that regard, I suppose that it should be no surprise that he would have at least some sort of emotional attachment to this old house… Whatever that emotion is.
Giving the old house one last look, he turned towards me, his face wrought with worry. "I didn't realize it was this bad… You holdin' up alright?"
"I'm fine," I lied. My reply was more a result of wanting to finish this mission than anything else; the less time I spend looking at this abomination the Imperials have created, the better. "I don't want your sympathy, anyways. Besides, it's not like you're any different."
Clay gives me a confused look. "What do you mean?"
"Your house, Clay. They demolished it."
"Oh, that."
Though his expression refused to change, his tone of voice made it apparent that he had seemingly forgotten about the fact that his own home had been destroyed. It's a little unbelievable that he could have forgotten about it so quickly, though in his defence, he wasn't there to have experienced it first-hand. Nor, for that matter, was there anything there to remind him of his old home. Not a trace of his former house remained, the ground now wholly occupied by one of those new, lifeless concrete buildings that the Imperials had constructed all over the town. So radical the change was, in fact, that we didn't realise we had passed his home until we had gone a few blocks down the road.
"You're right. But that doesn't make me any less worried about you."
I looked up at him, seeing the grim look on his face as he stared back at me. There's no doubt that there's more going on behind those dark indigo eyes of his but trying to decipher what exactly that might be was beyond my capabilities.
Our briefing had told us that almost all of Winteroot's residents had been captured and subjugated by the Imperial forces occupying the town, with only a tiny handful ever managing to make it to the relative safety of the deserts of Orre. Given by the shocking statistics that we were given, it was almost assured that every household had family members that had either been caught or killed during the massacre, with several family lines being wiped out altogether.
Given this information, it's pretty much a certainty by this point that Clay would be no exception to it as well. And while I may not know the exact details surrounding his family, the fact of the matter was that he must have lost at least some of his old family, if not all. For him to return to Winteroot and see the effects of the Empire on our hometown must be heavily taxing for him, regardless of how prepared he was prior to arriving here.
And yet, despite all that, he still has the mental capacity and fortitude to brush that aside and lay his concerns over me. Quite frankly, it's admirable just how well he's able to hide his emotions for the sake of me and the mission. Perhaps, for the first time since I've come here, I've properly appreciated his professionalism and the years of work as an agent he had put in.
Which is a real shame, because all of that was severely undercut by the reprehensible behaviour Clay had become infamous for following his arrival at the Bureau.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I returned my attention back towards my former home. It takes only a moment before my eyes slowly wander towards the front door, the wood blackened and burnt from the fire. Hanging right above it, in stark contrast to the tarnished front door, was an elegantly crafted signboard, its luxurious paint in stark contrast to the rest of the dishevelled, charred house. Despite the quickly setting darkness, the golden letters carved onto the signboard glowed with piercing clarity.
District Fourteen Imperial Winteroot Police Station
I stopped, reading it once again to make myself doubly sure that my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. Seeing that my ability to read was still perfectly intact, I spluttered out loud in confusion.
"Police station?"
I glanced back towards Clay with a questioning look, hoping to see if he had any idea about this prior to arriving here. His shrug and shake of his head proved to me otherwise, though I'm not surprised by his response; by this point I'm almost expecting him to not know either.
"Hey, this is all new to me as well, y'know." Taking a quick glance around him to check his surroundings, he walked over towards the window. "Intel hasn't given me much info about this either."
Yep… I figured as much.
Seeing him peer inside with a steely gaze, I slowly walked over towards him as I too looked through the window of my former home. It took only a second to realise that most of the work that the Empire had put into fixing this place up had been spent on its interior. The old living room was in a far better state than the rest of the house, but what they had ultimately turned it into made me grit my teeth and grimace.
Contrary to what the sorry state of the outside walls had led me to believe, the interior of the house had been fixed up to a superbly clean and neat state, with nary a sign of the blazing fire that broke out here all those years ago. But a living room, this was not. The walls and floor were lined with white, unpainted concrete, the ceiling lined with fixtures that shone a clinically sterile while light. Gone was the old couch, rug and piles of junk that used to adorn my living room, their presence now replaced with a front counter in the form of a giant metal desk that extended to either side of the room. A plexiglass wall separated the occupants of either side of the counter, with metallic stools and steel benches filling out the half of the room closest to the front door.
Frowning, Clay clicked his tongue upon the sight. "Yeah, that doesn't look like a living room to me."
I nodded in reply, taking a moment longer to study the room's new layout. It takes me a moment, but I've noticed two rather peculiar oddities. For starters, the chairs, desks, and rest of the furniture on the other side of the front counter appear considerably more premium than the ones that have been provided for the public to use. More importantly, however, is the fact that there isn't a single soul to grace those desks and chairs.
"It doesn't look like anyone's in there either."
Clay paused, inspecting the chairs as well. "Hey, maybe they've gone out for dinner or something?"
"I thought police stations were supposed to be manned twenty-four-seven."
"Then they're probably in the back," he said as he made his way over towards the front door. "Somebody'll probably come out once someone enters this place."
I watched tentatively as he reached for the door handle. A realization comes over me a little too late, causing me to blurt out carelessly as I held my breath.
"Wait, I don't think it's a good idea to-…"
I watched as he tugged on the door handle. It creaked under his paw, but the door refused to budge.
"Calm down," Clay said, walking away from the door. "It's locked."
I relaxed, letting out a deep sigh as I felt myself deflate. I'm glad that the door was locked. There was no way I would be able to just jump in like that without a moment to prepare myself.
"…Tell me before you do something like that next time."
"What's the matter, Kit? Your nerves get to you?"
Not being in any sort of state to deal with Clay's quips, I simply glared at him in reply. Were it any other situation, I'm sure that I would have retaliated with a little more than just a cold stare, but, right now, quite frankly, I just feel so utterly drained.
Taking one more look at the interior, I step away from the window before sitting on the ground in an anxious heap. From having to deal with the changes in Winteroot, to the transformations of my old house, to Clay's overly eager behaviour… It's just a little too overwhelming for me to take it all in at once.
"You okay there, Kit?"
Clay bounds over towards my side. I'm sure that he intended to help me up, but I brushed him away. Besides, more than anything else, I needed a little space right now.
"I'm fine." I repeated myself, though I'm sure that my lie was much less convincing this time round. I'm trying to force a grin to convince him, but I just can't seem to get myself to smile at all. "…Look's like this place isn't home anymore."
Clay nodded, sitting down opposite to me before furrowing his brow as he began to think. Not that I'd ever tell him, but he does look deceptively attractive when he's seriously focusing like that.
"Y'know, Kit, I thought this place was empty cause they didn't get a lot of visitors, but… Now that I think about it, I swear it's like they don't want visitors."
I nodded with his reasoning. Beyond the locked doors and unmanned station, the very fact that they had set up the police station so far away from the town itself really was an oversight too big to have been accidental. Not only was this place nowhere near as accessible as a police station should be, but its sheer distance from the rest of town made it utterly inconvenient for any of the officers to go to town, be it for a patrol or whatever other reason they may have.
No, the only real reason that this police station was located so far away was because the Imperials wanted it to be isolated. It's not as if they were so against the idea of policing the public. If anything, they relished it a little too much. No, the only logical reason as to why they had used my old house to be their new police station was because they didn't want anyone coming here.
So then what is it that they do here that they want to keep hidden so badly?
…What if it's not their actions they're trying to hide, but some… Thing?
I looked over at Clay, my eyes growing wide upon my realisation. From the knowing nod that he gave me, it's clear to see that he's come to the same conclusion as I have.
"Clay. Dad's research."
"I know. They've probably got their claws all over your old man's other stuff as well."
My heart starts to throb, thumping harder as I swallowed nervously.
"Then, the computer?"
He shook his head. "Hackett said that it was too big to bring out the house without destroying one or the other. Judging by how they rebuilt this place instead of tearing it down, I'm willing to bet that it's still in there somewhere."
I exhaled slowly. It's a relief to get that sort of confirmation from him, but it doesn't do anything to make me any more relaxed. Slowly getting up from the dirt, I watched as Clay inspected the signboard one last time, before turning towards me with a grim expression.
"In any case, given by all that we've seen, then… That complicates things."
He's right. We were under the impression that this place was still a pile of rubble, like how Hackett had described from when he last came here. Nothing in our plan was set to deal with a change quite like this.
"Our briefing didn't mention anything about this." I muttered, trying to get Clay's opinion on the matter.
"You're right, but our intel on this place is pretty outdated. I'm not surprised that it's changed."
"So, what now?" I asked in earnest.
"We stick to our plan. Or most of it, at least." There's a collected confidence in his voice as he reformulated our plan. I'm sure that he's doing that deliberately because of me, but it's still undeniably reassuring to see that he isn't panicking as a result of this unforeseen change. "Breaking in is too risky, so we'll wait until some of the officers come back. Once we're in, you go look for your old man's computer. I'll keep whatever Imps we meet occupied while you do your thing."
"How?"
"Depends. I'll have to see what sort of Pokémon they are first before I can come up with a plan."
I blinked, staring at him in disbelief as the true meaning of his words slowly settled with me. "You're going to improvise!?"
But Clay simply nodded in reply, the look on his face showing that he wasn't bothered by this in the slightest. While the fact that we were about to go in without a proper plan of sorts bothered me immensely, the truth was that the Pokémon next to me was an expert in the field through and through. In all likelihood, Clay must have done this several times before, and with great success to boot.
"Whatever method I choose, I need you to trust me, alright?"
Clay responds to me with unusual seriousness, as if to validify my own thoughts. There's a fierce fire in his eyes that seemingly flickered as he stared back at me intently. And, though the look in his eyes was intense, an undeniable wave of calmness slowly began to wash over me.
It isn't enough to completely calm me down, but it's enough to just take the edge off of my nerves.
"…Sure."
Looks like I'll just have to trust him.
"Good." Clay relaxes, giving me a familiar smile. "You ready?"
"...Yeah." I exhaled slowly, glancing back at the familiar looking house before giving him a slow but firm nod. "Let's just get this over with."
"Get what over with?"
Never mind. I'm not ready.
Hearing a voice that neither belonged to Clay nor I, I spun around, my ears sticking straight up into the air. From the trail that led to Winteroot town was a trio of Pokémon, approaching us with firm, confident steps as their eyes latched onto Clay and I with aggressive curiosity.
The sight of a gang like that approaching would be enough to make most Pokémon shudder in fear. Even the smallest of the three, a lanky looking Raichu with an almost disproportionately long tail, appeared powerful enough to have no trouble at all with taking down any of the residents living in Winteroot. Judging by his general build and physique, I'm willing to bet that his body has been trained primarily for speed. I can tell already that I'm going to hate having to fight him if necessary.
The Graveler besides him is no joke, either. Absolutely gigantic in size, his hulking body was covered with chips and scars, no doubt a result of countless fights that he had been through over the years. There's an unsettling air about him that made me wary, confounded by his absent-minded, steely glare. Frankly, if it wasn't for the fact that I was aware of the inherent weakness his kind had to ice types, I would most surely be terrified by his presence.
But neither of them was a match for the spectacle that was the Houndoom leading the group of three towards us. Towering in size, his body was absolutely rippling with a grotesque amount of muscles, radiating a terrifyingly deadly aura that only grew stronger and more nauseating as he approached us. Judging by appearances alone, he looked like he could crush skulls just by squeezing them between his legs, and without much difficulty either.
I stared at them, my eyes wide open in shock. Never in my past three years had I ever had someone manage to sneak up on me like that, let alone a group of three giants like the trio of Pokémon before me. Quite honestly, given my experience with the matter, I should have been able to pick up on them coming up the hill from the sound of their footsteps alone. I cursed myself under my breath for being so careless. Frankly, it's an embarrassment to the years of training that mum had put me through.
Flicking the dagger-like tip as he waved his tail, the Houndoom walked right up to me, staring at the both of us with blood red eyes that seemed to pierce right into me. Towering above us in an intimidating stance, he stared down at me with a vicious, prying glare as he pridefully asserted his dominance, demanding that we explain why we were encroaching on his territory with a single, dissatisfied grunt.
But instead of giving him an answer, I carelessly asked him a question of my own.
"Who are you?"
I knew, from the moment those words had left my mouth, that it most definitely wasn't a good idea to speak out to him like that. But what else could I have done? Being as shocked and unprepared for his unforeseen appearance, it's frankly a miracle that my frazzled brain could even respond to him with coherent words.
It probably doesn't help that I was, in all likelihood, staring back at him with a cold glare of my own. Ever since I evolved into a Glaceon, mum's been telling me that the way I looked at other Pokémon always made them uncomfortable or even angry. I'll admit, I had started out deliberately doing that in an effort to intimidate Ivan so that he wouldn't bother mum or I as much as he normally would have. But now I've grown so accustomed to it that it just comes naturally; it's surprisingly difficult for me not to glare at others now.
Regardless, whatever the reason may be, the Houndoom simply stares back at me, eyeing me in disbelief before roaring with a deep bellow of a laughter, the Graveler and Raichu behind him quickly joining suit. Just one look at him and it's clear to see that his hysterics are nothing but a poor disguise for the arrogant anger that had begun to boil behind those crimson eyes.
The Houndoom turns around, laughing boisterously as he called for what I can only really describe as a pack, his voice a rumbling baritone that carried with it all the gruff coarseness typical of a heavy smoker. "Who am I? You fuckin' kidding me? Hey, fellas, the chick doesn't know who I am!"
The Graveler, clearly the dimmest of the bunch, simply roars with laughter in reply, his voice painfully abrasive to my sensitive ears. "Hah, dumb broad!"
The Raichu nods in reply, before eyeing me down coolly as he spoke, his voice slick and surprisingly high pitched. "You're lucky you're damn cute, little lady. Our buddy here doesn't take kindly to ignorance."
His laughter subsiding, the Houndoom turned back around, returning his attention back towards me once again as he stared at me maliciously, a scowl forming on his face as he leaned in uncomfortably close towards me.
"You're talkin' to the one and only Curtis Walker, ace officer of District Fourteen. You'd better remember it." He stopped, sniffing me with questionable intent before growling as he bared his teeth. "Now, the hell are you two doing out in front of my police station?"
Upon his question, I found myself floundering as I struggled to come up with a believable reply.
"I, uhm..."
Fortunately for me, it seems that Clay's a lot more competent at coming up with believable bullshit. He gently pushed me away as he took my place, drawing Curtis's attention away from me and onto him. "Hey, hey, sorry about that!"
I stared at Clay. It's incredible that he doesn't appear at all intimidated by the three Pokémon before us, especially given that both him and I were so much smaller physically as compared to Curtis and his crew. And yet, despite that, he spoke with a casual calmness, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "We just got here, don't really know our way around or who's in charge. Didn't mean to piss you off like that."
Curtis stared at him, tilting his head as he glared suspiciously at the Flareon in front of him. "And who the fuck are you?"
"Name's Clay. I'm hoping to join the police force."
Curtis replied with a dismissive grunt. "We don't accept peasants. Go back to the excavation site like you were ordered."
Excavation site…? Does he mean the town plaza? I thought it was a mining site!
Clay either doesn't notice or simply chooses to ignore it as he continued with his explanation to the hostile Houndoom, pulling out the documents that were stamped at the entrance checkpoint. "Peasants? No, no, we're not with them. We got a Level C exception to look for work here, but there's not a chance that I'd want to work with those filthy miners."
Upon hearing his explanation, Curtis's suspicious glare turns to surprise. "You? You want to be one of us?"
Clay nods in reply, gesturing towards me as he spoke. "Yeah… My wife's not thrilled but I've been wanting to do something like this for a while. You guys hiring?"
There was a brief moment of silence as Curtis stared back at Clay with inquisitive eyes. My heart seemingly stopped beating as I looked back at the Houndoom, holding my breath as I anxiously waited for his response. But after having studied the Flareon for a few seconds, Curtis's mouth curled up, a devilish grin forming on his face as he called for his crew to join his side.
"Heh! Well you're in luck, pretty boy. The Chief said he's recruiting, so we've got a space for you. He's not here right now, but..." He turned, glancing back at the Graveler and Raichu as he let out a sinister chuckle. "...What say we do a little character assessment in the meantime, eh boys?"
The other two Pokémon sniggered in response, putting their arms around Clay as they dragged him in with boisterous aggression. Yet, despite that, the smile on Clay's face appeared to fit right in with the other three, laughing and joking with them as the four of them opened the front door and made their way into the police station.
Clay's ability to lie on the spot was so convincing that, were I not in the loop, I'm sure that I too would have been convinced that what he had said was true. Were it any other situation, I would be making some seriously scathing character assessments based on his unbelievable ability to lie so convincingly. After all, nobody is ever born a natural liar; it's a talent that only comes from experience. But right now, I couldn't care less. Instead, I'm finding myself thanking my lucky stars that he's so competent at talking his way out of trouble.
All I'm hoping for now is that everything he's said to them so far was nothing more than an act.
"Hey you! Wifey!"
My thoughts are interrupted as I hear Curtis shout at me with a bellowing voice.
Wifey…? Wait, does he mean me?
Bringing my attention towards him, I see that he and the others had stopped just past the front door, four pairs of eyes staring back at me with animalistic hunger. Seeing that look in his eyes, I had to admit that Clay appeared to have completely assimilated to the other three Pokémon.
…Doesn't mean I like that look they're giving me one bit, though.
Unfortunately for me and my hesitance to enter the station with them, Curtis's patience ran out at a breakneck pace. Glaring at me with a furious tint in his eyes, he cocked his head back as he impatiently gestured for me to follow him. "Hurry your ass up and get in!"
Looks like the game's afoot.
Nodding in reply, I hurriedly followed suit.
. . . . . . . . . .
22:40, June 4, Unified Year 4734 – District Fourteen, Winteroot outskirts, District Fourteen Imperial Winteroot Police Station
. . . . .
This mission is a bust.
It's been over two hours since Clay and I had managed to make our way back into my old house, but what was originally meant to be, according to Clay, a quick and easy job, has now devolved into a drawn out siege.
Although, in light of some of the discoveries that Clay and I had made prior to entering this police station, this mission wasn't going to be as simple and clear cut as we had originally hoped or anticipated. Key amongst our many obstacles was that, now that we weren't alone, there was no way for either Clay nor I to tell each other directly what we were planning on doing without raising the suspicion of the three officers present, so the best that we can manage is to try and read what the other is trying to achieve.
From what I could decipher, I assumed that Clay wanted me to look around the house for dad's computer while he kept Curtis and his gang preoccupied, just like Clay had planned earlier. But, regardless of whether that was his intention or not, that ultimately never happened. Or, if I were to be more precise, I never got a chance to get away from the group.
That's because the "character assessment" that Curtis was talking about was ultimately nothing more than an excuse to have a binge drinking session of the likes I have never seen before. No sooner had we entered the house did Curtis and his crew usher Clay and I into my old dining room, which they had renovated into a staff lounge. Furnished with thick carpeting, plush sofas and an elegant coffee table, the exquisite furniture that adorned the room felt sickeningly opulent as compared to the utilitarian atmosphere of the living room.
This at first seemed like the perfect distraction for me to slip away and start searching the house, were it not for two major issues. For starters, the only way to access the rest of the house was by exiting back to the former living room. Unfortunately, because the door leading out of the staff lounge was placed right in the line of sight of every chair in the room, it was impossible to sneak out without being seen by literally everyone else in here. Not that I even had the chance to do so, because Curtis and his cohort had used my presence as an excuse to order me around the house, demanding that I fetch them refreshments and other menial tasks at every opportunity possible.
And if they aren't making sexist comments in my direction or ordering me around like a personal slave, they're sexually harassing me whenever the opportune chance presents itself. The things I've had to deal with in just the past two hours alone makes what Ivan tried to do to me three years ago seem like a joke. The worst offender is Curtis himself, who had gone so far as to stick his face right up to my butt, pushing his nose against my crotch and take in a deep sniff before howling in an intoxicated stupor.
It definitely doesn't help that I can't meaningfully retaliate against them. Not physically, at least. Not without risking the mission at hand. If our true identities get exposed now, then everything I've done so far will be for nothing. So, instead, I've tried berating Curtis and the others verbally whenever they tried something of the sort, but all that's managed to do is prompt them to start teasing me and throw some more crude remarks at my general direction. I've stopped doing that by now. After all, as far as I can tell, they seem to actually enjoy it when I yell at them.
Making matters worse is that, as far as I can tell, there's no point in trying to rely on Clay anymore. Witnessing the harassment that I was being subjected to, Clay had made an attempt to stop them under the guise that he was less than thrilled with the way that Curtis and the others were treating his "wife". But now that he's been drinking with them for two hours non-stop, he's begun to join them in all the sexist remarks and general harassment. Just one look at him and it's clear for me to see that Clay is drunk out of his mind.
Which, unfortunately, means that the only one here who's sober is me, and only because I chose not to drink any booze myself. Having never had alcohol before, I quickly made up my mind that there wasn't a chance in Hell that I would make this my first experience with the stuff.
As a result of my restraint and reluctance to participate, this mission isn't technically over. But now that Clay is incapacitated, that means that everything now hinges on my own ability to get this mission completed, without Clay's help. As things are right now, our chances of actually completing the mission successfully are practically nil.
I glanced around the room, empty bottles of whisky, beer and wine littered all over the place. It reeks of booze, the heavy and oppressive smell assaulting my nose, powerful enough to make my head spin.
I think I'm going to be sick.
My attention is brought back to the four guys in the room as they abruptly broke out into boisterous laughter, no doubt from another one of their crude jokes. As I've come to expect by now, Curtis was leading the general direction of their conversation, slouched atop of his rather opulent armchair as he howled away.
"Fellas, lemme tell you. Chicks are only good for two things: Lookin' after the kids and fuckin'. 'Specially the girls 'n this fuckin' neighbourhood."
That's another thing I forgot to mention. Curtis is a massive misogynist, so much so that it made Ivan's former self seem tame in comparison. He had made this quite clear not long after he and the others had begun drinking, but now that the four of them have gone a full two hours without pause, it's getting unbearably extreme.
Amid the howling, Curtis beckoned for me to come towards him, no doubt having spotted me staring at him. Giving me a dismissive nod, he gestured at the table as he continued to indulge with the others, his eyes latching onto me to make sure that I was tidying up the absolute mess of empty glasses and bottles that he and his gang had strewn out on the carpet and coffee table. I can tell just from the way he's looking at me that he's relishing in my subservience.
"Heh. Meatbags."
Frank, the Graveler, grunts in reply, or rather, in unison with Curtis's statement as he grins with a creepy, intoxicated smile from the comfort of the sofa next to the Houndoom. From the moment I saw him, Frank's hollow and dim eyes had bothered me. But now I can say for sure that it's because there's nothing going on behind that lifeless stare of his. Nothing complicated or in any way developed, at least. He's the very personification of 'no brains and all brawn'. Quite honestly, I don't think he's capable of making a single complex thought.
Julian, the Raichu, nods in agreement with the both of them from his spot on the sofa next to Frank. "You can say that again. Anything else and they're too much trouble."
If Curtis was the alpha of his pack, then Julian would be the beta. While he doesn't have the brute strength that Frank possesses nor the presence that Curtis commands, Julian most definitely has the brightest head on his shoulders, making him, at a glance, come off as the most sensible of the bunch.
In fact, out of the three, Julian was the most normal, and by a significant margin. He's the only one here that I can actually imagine being a proper police officer, unlike Curtis who I imagine would abuse the power of his position at every opportunity given, and Frank, who seemed more suited for the role of a mindless club bouncer than anything else.
It's a shame then, really, that he shares so many of the twisted views that Curtis has.
Curtis took another hearty swig of his glass of whisky before tossing his shot glass onto the floor. I stumbled, falling over myself as I tried to catch it, my efforts rewarded with an intact shot glass in my paws.
"Fuckin' hormones and emotions going off like bombs all the damn time. Especially them Federation bitches and the fuckin' nasty broads sent to this shithole. Miss me with that shit."
It's almost as if the Empire had deliberately chosen them to be the law enforcers of Winteroot as if their only criteria for employment was just how reprehensible a Pokémon they could be. All three of them are truly scum on this Earth, through and through.
"Clay, why the fuck'd you even get married anyways? You're chainin' yourself to one girl."
Which is why I'm having barely any trouble at all seeing why they've gotten so fond of a playboy like Clay.
"No, no, no. You don't get it, Curtis."
Sitting opposite to the domineering Houndoom was Clay, relaxing on an identical looking armchair of his own, joining in on the chortling. For the past two hours, he's been the centre of attention, which wasn't all that surprising given that he was new here, but it was quite the spectacle to see him hold their attention for the entirety of the time they had been here.
Although, having said that, impressed I was not. Seeing him fitting in so well with these three Pokémon in particular is doing his reputation no favours in my eyes. Taking a sip of whiskey before slowly twirling his glass as he rolled the bronze liquid within in a slow circular motion, he answered Curtis confidently with nary a hint of hesitation in his voice.
"I'm not chaining myself to her." Clay paused, briefly turning his attention towards me. Without warning, in a single, swift motion, he abruptly pulls me in next to him the moment my eyes met his, grabbing my cheek as he forced me to his side, a devilish grin decorating his face. "I own her now."
Startled, I let out a gasp, dropping the empty glasses onto the floor. As luck would have it, my ears were greeted with the sound of a dull, muffled thud, and not the sharp crack of shattering glass, the glasses and bottles remaining intact as it fell onto the plush carpeting. Taking a brief glance to double check the dropped glassware, I mentally sighed in relief. If those glasses had shattered, there was no doubt that Curtis would chastise me severely.
Clay turned his head, facing me with the same devious look as he forced me to return his gaze. "Isn't that right, Kit?"
I've been in a few sorts of situations during my time in District Twelve, but nothing quite like this. Unable to come up with an adequate response to his question, I simply stared back at him in reply, my face contorting ever so slightly as my mixture of fear, confusion, and disgust began to overflow.
Whether it be because of the odd look on my face or because of the rather compromising position that Clay had forced me into, the three officers laughed, nodding their heads as they grunted in agreement with the Flareon's new perspective.
Julian in particular seems particularly impressed, downing another glass as he reached towards the coffee table with the intent to empty the contents of the last filled bottle of alcohol. "Hey, not bad, Clay. Never thought of it like that."
Clinking glasses with Julian, Clay emptied the remaining contents of his own glass, before pushing me rather forcefully off from him, leaving me to pick up the fallen glasses on my own. Without giving me so much as a passing glance, he turned towards Curtis as he spoke, his words slurring from his carefree intoxication. "By the way, where's the Chief?"
Curtis shrugged, not particularly bothered by the Chief's late arrival. "Fuck if I know. If he ain't here, then he's in town, probably meetin' the mayor or something."
"What, that walkin' corpse of a Gulpin?" Clay scoffed, flicking his paw dismissively. "Fuckin' hell, that's just sad."
"Damn right. Everyone knows he's nothing but a puppet to the Emperor now. It's all bullshit but we still gotta act the part." Pausing to take in another drink, he grinned as his eyes stared back at the Flareon's. "…At least you get it, Clay."
Slamming back the rest of his shot of whiskey, Curtis reached for the bottle to top off his glass again but found himself staring at disbelief upon finding the last bottle of whisky to be empty. His blood red eyes slowly scanning across the room, he abruptly roared with savage ferocity upon finding Julian to be the only one in the room with a full glass.
"Fuck, Julian! You finished the fuckin' whisky, didn't you?"
"Hey man, you said you were done with that shit!"
Curtis, upon hearing Julian counter in defence of himself, slams his glass down with such force that it instantly shattered upon hitting the armrest of his chair. "Shut the fuck up, you fuckin' cunt! I'll drink whatever the fuck I want!"
The room fell deadly silent as Curtis radiated a terrifyingly malicious aura, the Houndoom taking deep, rough breaths as he slowly tried to calm himself down. The murderous look slowly fading from his face, he dusted off the rest of the broken glass onto the carpeted floor before casually gesturing for me to approach him.
"Hey you. Glaceon."
Unfortunately for me, Curtis's outburst had unsettled me so much that I was in no shape to give him an immediate nor appropriate response. Taken by surprise, all I could do in reply to his order was to idiotically stand in place, staring back at him in confusion as I uttered out the first words that came to my head.
"Me?"
"The fu-…? Who else would I be talking to?" The Houndoom's eyes lit up, his barely sedated rage at the brink of boiling over once again. "Get your ass over here!"
By this point, I had finally snapped out of my stupor. Thinking it best to appease him rather than risk the wrath of his unadulterated rage, I hurriedly put down my tray full of empty glasses and bottles, before making my way up to him, being careful not to tread on the shards of glass that were scattered around him.
Waiting until I had approached him, Curtis eyed me down with crimson eyes, before speaking with an authoritative, gruff voice. The feeling of his carnal glare on me made me feel sick to the stomach.
"Be a good lil' girl and do me a favour," he said, staring down at me in disdain as he gestured towards the kitchen. "Go fetch us some drinks."
"But you've already had plen-"
"Payback."
My sentence was cut short as a sharp crack echoed through the room; my head abruptly turned to my side as a searing burn scorched against my cheek. Dazed and in no small amount confused as to what had just happened, I slowly reached up towards the burning sensation, flinching from the sharp sting that seared my cheek the moment my paw made contact with it.
I lowered my paw, bringing my eyes onto the pads underneath them. They're usually a pale shade of pink, but looking at them now, there's a deep red substance smeared across them that wasn't there before.
I'm bleeding.
It takes a moment, but I finally came to the realisation that Curtis had responded to my protest by retaliating against me with a move, evident from the dim, purple light that glowed from the tip of his tail. I'm sure that he did so to intimidate me rather than to seriously injure me, judging from the fact that he had deliberately restricted the attack to just his tail alone. Yet, despite that, his blow was still excruciating, his tail smacking me across my cheek with the force of a whip.
For the first time ever, I've been bitch-slapped. And by someone as grossly reprehensible as Curtis to boot.
Looking up at him, I can see him staring down at me disdainfully, his chest puffed out as he threateningly waved the tip of his tail in full view of me, ready to strike at me again should he feel the slightest need to do so.
Finally opening his mouth to speak, Curtis's voice rumbled with a malevolent growl. "Did I stutter?"
Still in the process of recovering from my shock, I glanced over towards Clay, hoping to see if the Houndoom's latest act would finally be enough to rally him to my cause, even in his state of drunken euphoria.
But to my dismay, Clay didn't seem the slightest bit concerned or even remotely fazed by what had just happened. As a matter of fact, he's not even looking at me. He's far too distracted by Frank and Julian, laughing heartily as the three of them shared another crass joke with each other. Frankly, I don't think he even realises what had just happened in this room.
I really am on my own now.
Disheartened, my ears and tail drooping listlessly, I slowly shook my head as I lowered my eyes to avoid the Houndoom's murderous glare. "I… N-No…"
"Good." Satisfied with my response, Curtis finally relaxes back into his armchair, though his steely glare refused to stray from me. "Now piss off before I do it again."
I can feel his glare follow me as I quickly scurried to the kitchen with my tail between my legs, his eyes finally returning to the rest of the group once I had disappeared through the kitchen door with my tray full of empty glassware. I don't think I've ever felt this humiliated in my whole life.
Look at you. The mighty and powerful "Queen of the North" one day; an abused, alcohol serving slave the next. How far you've fallen, Kiteki.
I continued to wallow in my own self despair, my mind manufacturing thoughts of a similar nature as I rummaged through the seemingly hundreds of bottles that were scattered all over the kitchen. The kitchen has always been a bit of a mess, even when I lived here. But never can I recall a time when it was quite as heinous a medley of chaos as this.
Dad never was that good at tidying up the house, but he wasn't a big enough slob to let the house turn into the sort of mess that was before me. Aside from all the bottles of alcohol, both empty and unopened, that lay littered all over the room, there was an air of griminess in here that made staying within this room for any extended period of time a truly unpleasant experience.
Most notable of which being the fact that the tiled floor was sticky to the touch, the sensation against my paw a viscerally disgusting feeling. I'm begging to myself that it's because of all the food and condiments that have been spilt onto the kitchen floor and not cleaned up. I don't think I'll be able to keep my sanity if I learn that it's something else.
The only saving grace that the kitchen can offer me is that, as long as I'm here, I'll get a few moment's respite from the tyranny of Curtis and his gang. It's, unfortunately, a terribly fleeting moment though, as I'll soon have to head back with their demanded liquor or risk having one of them come in here after me.
Urgh… How much alcohol do they plan to drink…?
Quickly filtering through the several bottles that lay strewn all over the kitchen, I picked up the first unopened bottle I came across; a boxy flask filled with a deep, caramel coloured liquor, topped off with an elegant label on its side.
Montgomery Whisky, Black Label
Aged to perfection for eighteen meticulous years in the pristine northern hills of the Galarian Commonwealth.
I read the label again, running my paw down the length of the carefully crafted bottle.
…For mere police officers, they have some fancy stuff in here
No doubt this was an expensive liquor, given by the unbelievably pompous description printed on its side. If this alcohol were to turn into a sentient being, their overinflated sense of self-importance would, in all likelihood, drive me to smack them in the face in a matter of mere seconds.
It seems like a waste to serve the four of them an alcohol of this calibre, but right now, I couldn't care less. Not when I'm too concerned for my own safety and well-being. There's no doubt that, if I stayed in here any longer, Curtis or one of the others would come looking for me. And so, clutching the bottle close to me as I tucked it in with my front right leg, I made my way back towards the four Pokémon, all of whom were laughing away between themselves as if nothing had happened.
I propped the bottle of whisky onto the coffee table. "Here's your drink."
Curtis took one look at it before giving me an unenthusiastic response. "I wanted beer."
"You never specified."
"She's not wrong, Curt."
"Fuck off, Julian." Baring his canines as he gave the Raichu an intimidating growl, he turns towards me, an irritated and impatient scowl on his face. "Put that shit back and get me a beer."
I sighed reluctantly upon his demand. Were this situation to take place back in the snow-white hills of Mt. Coronet, there's no doubt that I would retaliate harshly; my years spent there had taught me to do exactly that, even if it isn't my style to do so. But right now, I can't even if I wanted to. I just don't have the liberty to act rashly when there's so much at stake. Besides, I'm sure anyone would understand why I didn't feel like putting up a fight with him, especially after what he had just done. So instead, I simply nodded in understanding, picking the bottle back up from the coffee table, my only resistance in the form of a bitter and curt reply.
"…Fine."
Unfortunately for me, Curtis must have taken my lack of protest as a greater sign of submission than I had any intention of offering. Giving me a satisfied grin as I turned around to make my way back to the kitchen, he whips his tail again, this time striking my butt with the flat side of his dagger-like tip, hard enough to fill the room with the sound of a cracking slap. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as when he struck my face, given that he didn't use a move to power his hit like he did last time. But the humiliation of it all is just the same. I can feel my cheeks burn a deep shade of crimson.
"Heheh… That's a good girl. Nice and obedient."
There's a symphony of cackling and laughter as I hurriedly scurried off. I can feel their uninhibited, primal glares staring at me as I made my way back to the kitchen. It's a feeling that's enough to make my stomach churn. I hate it.
No, maybe I should try and see things in a brighter light.
Propping the bottle back where I found it, I let out a long, drawn out sigh, letting myself relax as much as the situation would allow me. I'm not going to deny that I hate how they're ordering me around but being in the kitchen by myself does give me a moment of solace. Although, that said, I'm sure I could say the same thing for any of the other rooms in here.
At the very least, it's definitely better than being the only girl in a roomful of rowdy, drunk boys. There's not a chance in Hell I would feel safe in that room, especially when someone like Curtis is playing top dog in there. Yes, the kitchen floor is absolutely disgusting to the touch. But it's not as gross as the fur-crawling sensation of four pairs of unwanted eyes fixated on my body.
I picked up whatever bottle of beer I could find. Screw it if they don't like what I brought. At least it'll mean that, if they want me to bring them another bottle, I'll be able to take another moment of refuge away from them. With not an ounce of haste, I brought them their bottle.
"Here."
Curtis nods approvingly. He's so intoxicated that he doesn't even realise that the bottle I've brought him is already stale and half empty.
"Good. Now pour."
I clicked my tongue, exasperated. I'm not doing that. If he took my willingness to comply just a moment ago as a sign to do whatever he wanted, then forgive me for not being so overly enthusiastic to find out how far he's willing to take things.
"Do it yoursel-"
Curtis doesn't even give me a chance to finish my sentence before smacking me across the face again with the tip of his tail. His assault isn't powered with a move like he did the first-time round, but his tail manages to strike me right on the freshly cut wound on my cheek, causing my face to burn in searing agony. It takes an awful lot of willpower on my part to not react or make a face upon his assault.
"I said pour."
Judging by that gleam in his eye, I think he's getting a kick out of slapping me now. If that's true, and I'm awfully sure it is, then that means that there's no winning in this situation regardless of which approach I take. If I resist, he'll take pleasure in disciplining me. If I comply then he'll enjoy humiliating me. Either way, he wins, and I lose.
The realization of that makes me let loose a heavy sigh. Not in dismay or anger, but disappointment in my own poor luck for having to deal with someone like him. Reluctantly, I picked up the bottle with both paws and grudgingly poured him a cup. Curtis stares relentlessly at me, waiting until I've filled up his glass before opening his mouth to speak.
"Good. Now piss off. And give that ass a wiggle for me as well."
I replied with a glare of my own, before making my way off towards the corner of the room, choosing not to hang around the Houndoom's near vicinity and see if he wanted to try anything funny with me. A smart move on my part, because Curtis immediately slammed back his drink, chugging down the entirety of the alcohol I poured him before roaring with animal-like ferocity.
"Fuck, I can't stand that fuckin' look in her eyes!" Slamming his empty glass onto the coffee table with such force that it honestly surprised me it didn't shatter, he turned towards Clay, glaring at him with eyes that held a raging fire behind his hammered pupils. "Screw everything you said about owning her and all that bullshit. Why the fuck'd you marry a chick like this?"
Clay, slouched atop his armchair, seemed to be too intoxicated to even notice Curtis's malice as he replied in a laid-back manner. "Hey, c'mon man, what's wrong with my wife? She's cute, ain't she?"
"Cute?" In an instant, Curtis's ferocity morphed into questioning suspicion. "The fuck? You into that sort of thing?"
"You bet your ass I am. You've got no idea how fuckin' hot cute girls can get when you start messing with them."
Julian leaned forward upon hearing Clay's explanation, nearly falling over as he did so from his drunken stupor. "Damn, Clay. You're into some kinky shit."
Frank grunts approvingly. He's slurring his words so much by now that it's almost impossible to hear what he's saying. "Frank want meatbag now."
"Frank, no." Julian groans, like he's made this explanation a thousand times before. "You killed the last girl you screwed after you crushed her in your bed. No going out screwing with the locals until that whole thing blows over, remember? Chief's orders."
"Frank don't care. Frank wants to fuck a meatbag 'till she screams."
Upon his stubbornness to comply, Curtis glared daggers at the Graveler, threatening Frank with a rumbling growl. "Frank, shut the fuck up."
"…Fine."
Seeing him finally comply, Curtis finally turned his attention back towards the Flareon, giving him a disapproving shake of his head. "Clay, I'll give you that. She's cute, but she still ain't my sort of thing."
He paused, turning his head towards me, his dilated eyes staring at me as intently as he could muster. After a brief moment, the tips of his mouth curled up into a sly grin, a lustful glint in his stare as his eyes began to examine me more intently. "…She's got a nice ass though."
I shuddered. That look in his eyes that he just showed me was more terrifying than any outburst that he had sent my way during the entirety of my time here. Frankly, having seen that look on his face, I would have started immediately searching for a way out if it weren't for a thought that had been racing in my head as I watched the four Pokémon bicker with each other.
Now's my chance.
I had started to suspect the moment Curtis had failed to realise that I had brought him an opened bottle of beer, but having seen the rest of his gang, I now know for a certainty that everyone in this room except for me is completely drunk out of their mind. Perhaps not quite to the extent of passing out, but definitely to the point where none of them are able to think straight. If I'm to slip out of this room and search for dad's computer without raising suspicion, then now's the time to do so.
With Curtis's hungry glare still latched onto me, I slowly made my way up towards him, giving him a look that feigned subservience.
"Umm… Could you tell me where the bathroom is?" I asked, trying my absolute hardest to hide the disgust and resentment I felt towards him. Of course, I knew fully well where the bathroom already was. Nor, for that matter, did I need to use the bathroom at all. But that wasn't the point of my question.
Of course, to Curtis, who was intoxicated beyond reasoning, my question appeared innocent enough. "What's the matter, can't control your bladder?"
Clay snorted, chuckling as he tried to stifle a laugh. "Hey man, you got a pee fetish or something?"
"Fuck off, Clay. I'm not the one who's married a fuckin' kid." Giving the Flareon a flash of his canines, Curtis turned towards me, gesturing towards the door to the living room with the tip of his tail as he spoke with slow, slurred words. "Down the corridor, second door to the left. Don't go into the other rooms, especially the one on the far right."
My ears perked up upon hearing him mention that room in particular.
That's dad's workshop…!
"Why?" I asked, my question part act and part in earnest.
Seeing Curtis simply shrug in response, Julian stepped in with an explanation as coherent as he could muster. "There's some pretty weird shit in there. Ain't got a clue what they're for, but Chief thinks they're important. Doesn't want us touching anything in case we break shit or something before we figure out what the hell they actually are."
Frank grunted in response, as if to confirm what the Raichu had just said, though whether or not he actually understood it all was up in the air. "You got that, Glaceon?"
I quickly nodded, not at all concerned by what they had said. "Err… Yeah."
"Don't take too long, or I'll come after you myself."
Curtis gave me one last warning before turning his attention away from me, the four Pokémon in the lounge returning back to their crass conversation. Using that as my cue to leave, I quickly turned around and made my way out the door to my former living room, closing the door behind me once I had exited.
For a brief moment, I stopped and took in a deep breath. The police station's main room was cold and clinical to the eye, but the scent of air untainted by the whiff of alcohol was undeniably refreshing. Relishing in the clear air once more, I hurried over towards the bags that Clay and I had left next to the front entrance and began rummaging through them for my locket and the portable drive that Clay had given me earlier.
Unfortunately for me, even from out here, I could still here the boisterous exchange happening from the room right behind me, their voices loud and uninhibited from the excessive amounts of booze they had consumed.
"Fuckin' hell. Clay, your taste in girls is fuckin' dangerous. Your wife looks barely legal."
Curtis's remark was met with the defiant voice of Clay putting up his defence. "Piss off, she's only two years younger than me."
"Bullshit." There's a sharp sound of glass shattering that punctuated his outcry. I could only imagine what it was that had caused such a noise. "And what's with her fuckin' attitude? It pisses me off."
"Give her a break, man. She's just shy. She'll warm up to you soon enough, I'll make sure of that."
No, you won't, Clay. No, you won't.
Unlike me, however, Curtis seemed a lot more convinced by Clay's words. "Just shy?"
"Yeah. Besides, isn't it that much more satisfying when you make a girl like her submit to your will?"
The lounge became abuzz with the sound of Curtis and his gang murmuring approvingly of Clay's new perspective. As for me, I think I'm going to throw up.
"Fuck. You're a sly talker, Clay. I can dig that." A deep growl bellowed from behind the staff lounge door, although, curiously enough, it carried no malice. I'm not sure what's happening behind that door, but Curtis's growl was promptly followed by the sound of raunchy snickering from all the males present in that room. "Alright then, Clay. Gimme your wife for a night; I wanna try screwin' something like 'er for once."
"How 'bout you get me a job here first, eh?"
"You kiddin? You're one of us now!"
I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, trying my hardest not to think about the abhorrent conversation taking place behind me. Despite the dangerous aura that had begun to seep out from the staff lounge, I couldn't give myself the freedom to fret about what was happening behind that door. Not yet at least. Not when I've finally managed to sneak in an opportunity like this.
With the sound of uninhibited laughter bursting out from the staff lounge, I slung the locket around my neck, picked up the drive, and made my way into the depths of my old home.
. . . . . . . . . .
23:03, June 4, Unified Year 4734 – Empire of the New Order, Winteroot outskirts, District Fourteen Imperial Winteroot Police Station, Arthur Schwarz's workshop
. . . . .
For a room they said they had wanted left untouched, there's an awful lot that's missing from here.
It's hard for me to recall a time dad's workshop had ever been this empty. Most of the little trinkets and projects that dad had been working on had seemingly disappeared, no doubt taken away by the Imperials to be studied and analysed.
Having said that, all this empty space does mean that his workshop is finally clean and tidy. I've nagged him for years to put some effort into cleaning up the place; to turn it into a state that was even slightly close to the one before me. I never thought that I would ever see the day when all four walls of the room would be visible at the same time.
…It sure doesn't feel like dad's workshop, though.
I sighed with a heavy heart, gently closing the door behind me as I did so. I'm dismayed at myself for lamenting the loss of all the chaos that once littered this room when I used to so adamantly demand that he clean it up just a few years ago. I never realised until now that all that mess was such an endearing and defining characteristic of dad and all his belongings.
No, no, no. The computer, Kiteki. I don't have time for this.
I shook my head, shaking away the melancholic nostalgia that had clouded my mind. The only reason I had let myself go like that was from the reassuring realisation that dad's old computer was still in the room, having moved barely an inch from where I last remembered it to be. But for me to ease my mind at just the mere sight of it alone without checking to see if it worked or not was foolish, even for my own standards. Either that, or I've been so stressed out over the past few hours that even the smallest semblance of good news became a massive boost to my general mood and morale.
Making my way over to the computer, I gently blew the dust off the keyboard, causing me to cough as thick clouds of dust flew up into the air. It seems that, despite having taken everything else out of the room, they had intentionally left the computer untouched, so much so that they've even let the dust pile up on the machine to the extent that they had. There's no doubt in my mind that this machine alone was the sole reason that the Imperials hadn't renovated this part of the house yet.
Closing my eyes, I tried my hardest to conjure up the memories of when dad used to operate this machine; something that's a little hard to do given that he had spent more time working on it than actually using it. Even on the day the Frontier Massacre began, I remember coming home to find him half buried beneath this massive behemoth of a device.
Nevertheless, it only takes me a couple of moments before I remember how to turn the device on. Reaching over to the side, I flicked on a switch, my efforts greeted with the sound of the computer whirring to life. Several system lights flashed on the behemoth of a device before, finally, after a few clatters of the spinning hard drive, the screen lit up in black and green, commands flickering across the screen as the machine booted itself.
So, it still works after all this time… You outdid yourself on this one, dad.
To be fair, given that the Imperials hadn't touched this machine, I really shouldn't be all that surprised that it was still operational. Dad had designed the computer so that it would work in any sort of situation, even going so far as to install an electrical generator within the computer so that it could be powered and operated anywhere.
Though, looking at it now, it's a wonder why he even bothered, given the sheer size and weight of this thing. There's not a chance this thing was ever going to fit through the door of his workshop, let alone anywhere that wasn't outside of this house. It'd be easier for him to carry the kitchen fridge out than his computer.
My attention was returned to the machine as it let out a short, high pitched beep, signalling that the booting process had finished. The screen flickered, the long list of incomprehensible words and commands quickly disappearing, leaving the screen empty except for a single command prompt.
: Insert key.
With what information I had been given, I took the locket from around my neck and brought it up against the slot that had opened up next to the keyboard. A quick inspection was all that I needed to tell that the hole was a perfect fit for the locket that dad had given me, the intricate design of the locket mirroring the flurry of grooves that were present within the slot.
Not that it mattered, because as soon as I got the pendant close enough to the slot, it snapped right into place with a surprisingly powerful magnetic force. With the sound of well-oiled clockwork, the slot glowed with a dim white light as it turned the locket clockwise, before pulling it deep into the depths of the slot with a satisfying click.
From within the confines of the behemoth, the sound of gears clacking echoed, mixing with the dull whir of the computer's fans and hard drive. The system lights flashed and pulsed, as if unsure what to make of the newfound object, before finally, with one last flicker of lights, the prompt on the screen disappeared.
: Key accepted.
With another mechanical click from the computer, it ejected my locket, seemingly done with what it needed to do with it. Given the lack of intel I had received prior to arriving here, it's reassuring to see that what little information Earnest and everyone else had told me was ultimately true. Taking my locket and placing it back around my neck, I gave it one final glance to check for damages before returning my attention back towards the computer, waiting for it to reveal its precious contents to me.
I certainly wasn't expecting what came up next.
: Step two.
: Insert password.
…Password?
I stared at the screen, dumbfounded. Nobody had told me that there was a password needed to access dad's computer. As a matter of fact, I don't recall dad having ever needed a password to access this machine.
My mind raced as I tried to remember a password I had never seen before. Panic slowly set in as my desperate gaze was greeted with the cold and calculating screen, its text cursor flashing impatiently for me to input an answer that I couldn't possibly know. Out of desperation, I hurriedly typed in the first plausible answer I could think of.
*TheBureau*
The lines of text that greeted me in reply made my heart stop.
: Incorrect password.
: Two attempt(s) remaining before system wipe.
"…Shit."
Though a heavy user of profanity I was not, this definitely warranted it. I didn't think dad would include a password, let alone put a limit to how many tries I could make. And threatening failure with a system wipe? That's just sadistic; a stroke of pure, unadulterated evil.
No, that probably wasn't his intention. Whatever he's got stored in here must be critically important if dad thought it warranted a security measure quite like this. Critically important… Or unimaginably dangerous.
Whatever it was, he most definitely didn't want anybody getting their paws and claws on it.
I thought, raking my brain for any sort of a plausible answer. I'm sure that, if I worked my brain any harder, the heat it would generate would cause me to melt.
Then… perhaps his birthday?
*46850516*
I'll be honest, I thought it was a pretty good guess. I've seen him use his birthday for several things before, after all.
Unfortunately for me, he must have had other thoughts when he worked on this machine.
: Incorrect password.
: One attempt(s) remaining before system wipe.
If it weren't for the three Imperial police officers in the other room, I would have screamed at the sight before me. Summers in Winteroot aren't particularly hot, especially at night. But right now, the heat I'm feeling under my fur is enough to make me break into sweat. The stress of it all makes me feel like I've aged ten years in the past three hours alone.
In frustration and dismay, I stared down at the locket in my paws. None of the answers I could come up with seemed good enough, especially when the two failed passwords I had previously entered were stronger candidates themselves. Growing increasingly desperate, I muttered towards the locket under my breath, a whimsical hope that he could hear me through the locket itself.
"Dad… Why didn't you tell anyone about this…? How am I supposed to know what to put in here?"
But, of course, my words fell on deaf ears. A wry smile crept across my face as I shook my head, amazed that I had almost led myself to believe that the locket would give me some sort of a reply.
…What's the point in a key when I can't access the computer with it?
I ran my paw across the bumpy surface of the pendant, its intricate lines taunting me, teasing an answer that seemed so close in reach but one I could never find. With one last misled hope that my eyes were playing tricks on me, I glanced back at the screen, only to be greeted with the same, hopeless line of text glaring back at me. Despair starting to settle in, I turned the locket around, my eyes glossing over the inscription on the back of the locket.
To Kiteki,
You'll always be my brightest star.
Arthur.
I read the inscription again. And then a third time. And then a fourth.
No. It couldn't possibly…!
I flipped the pendant over, a faint but newfound hope fuelling me as my eyes carefully cross-checked the locket with the grooves within the slot on the computer. It's clear to see that the inscription isn't an integral part of the key mechanism itself. As far as the machine was concerned, the words engraved on the back might as well not exist at all.
It's never occurred to me until now, but now that I think about it, it's a little strange that dad had chosen to have this particular phrase engraved onto the back of my locket. As catchphrases go, there were plenty more that suited him better than the one that he had chosen to put in. As a matter of fact, I don't recall him having ever used this phrase before, other than…
…His last words…!
The realization struck me with the force of a thunderbolt, forcing a sharp gasp as I stared down at my locket in disbelief. The evidence seemed to fit too well; for it to be all too convenient. And yet, every sign pointed towards it all being true. I've always known that dad was a genius, but I never thought he would be capable of planning this out to an extent quite like this.
It's dangerous for me to let my thoughts run away like this. Especially when it's an idea this wild. But as wild ideas go, this one just made too much sense for me to ignore.
I'm riding my last chance on this. It's only a hunch, but it's the best answer I've got.
*You'll always be my brightest star.*
I scanned the lines of text, making absolutely sure that I had copied the inscription verbatim. Holding my breath, I brought my trembling paw above the return key before, closing my eyes, I firmly pressed it down.
What greeted me when I finally opened my eyes made me crumble into a heap on the floor.
: Password accepted.
: Welcome, Arthur Schwarz.
Dad, you're such an ass.
From my position on the floor, I watched as the screen slowly changed, bringing up a crude user interface as the computer finally granted me access to itself. For a brief moment, I couldn't care about anything other than the sweet taste of victory, the euphoria of success. My body limp from the stress of the situation finally dissipating from my body, all I could do was revel in the brief peace of mind that had washed over me.
It takes me a while to recover, but I eventually managed to pull myself up onto my paws, inserting the portable drive Clay had given me before beginning the copying process. It wasn't particularly hard to get it done; dad had made the user interface easy enough to navigate, even for someone like me who's never used a computer before. That being said, given by the time it's taking for the data transfer to complete, dad must have stored an absolute wealth of information in here.
Not that I was particularly bothered by that. As far as I was concerned, I had succeeded in the mission. All I needed to do now was wait for the transfer to complete, then I would finally be free to get out of this place.
"Clay, where th' fuck did you go?"
Unfortunately for me, my elation was, as ever, short lived.
Shit…! How long have I been in here?
Hearing Curtis's all-too-familiar bellow, I scrambled to regain my bearings on my situation, my eyes finally falling upon the clock hanging from the wall behind dad's giant computer. To my horror, I realised that I had stayed in dad's workshop for a full thirty minutes.
My whole body flinched as the sound of Curtis's rumbling voice echoed through the house again, his shout carrying all the subtlety of a self-destructing Voltorb. "…Clay, your girl ain't in the fuckin' toilet!"
I gulped. Going off of what he just said, it's safe to say that the Houndoom was most likely in the bathroom. At this rate, it was only going to be a matter of time before he would find me in here.
Frantically, I hurried over to dad's computer. The progress bar on the screen showed that it was barely a quarter of the way through; nowhere near close to completing the transfer. Pulling the drive out now was out of the question as well. Not unless I wanted to risk corrupting the data and throw away all the effort I had put in over the past couple of hours.
The only choice I have now is to try and hide what I've done from the prying eyes of the Houndoom and the rest of his crew, whatever method possible.
Kicking my brain into overdrive, I quickly scoured the room, my eyes locking onto a dirty blanket draped over some boxes in the corner of the workshop. Grabbing it, barely giving it a second thought, I hastily threw it over the computer to hide the flickering screen. It wasn't a perfect solution; the whirring computer fans and clicking hard drive were still distinctly audible from under the fabric. But right now, I just don't have the liberty to worry about such things.
No, my mind was completely focused on getting out of this room undetected. Everything I've worked on so far was riding on it. And as far as my frazzled and exhausted brain could tell, the best chance of me doing so was to leave this room as fast as I could.
Making my mind up, I quickly dashed for the door out, busting it open…
…And came face to face with the blood-red stare of Curtis himself.
