There are a few things about getting arrested that most people never talk about.

Firstly, when you get the cuffs slapped on you, the cops don't really care if you're missing your shoes or your jacket. So I was being dragged out of Judy's house in the chill of a darkening October evening with just my shirt, my pants, the stuff in my pockets and my socks as company. And goddamn, it was cold out tonight. The wind especially had decided to punish me for my nefarious crimes by pelting me with a hundred blades of glacier-cold drafts that cut through my clothes and left me shivering. That's just sadism at this point.

Secondly, being arrested tends to attract attention, even in what I assumed was a relatively quiet area of town. So while I was being frog-marched to Officer Ken's car, several people in the vicinity had left their homes to watch the spectacle. The stares cut into my consciousness; I was being labeled as a Terrible, Horrible No-Good Very Bad Man who deserved to get punished with extreme prejudice. One youngish kid had decided to rub it in further by shouting for all of Avalice to hear that I was a bad man and I should stay in prison for the rest of my life. That was super unfair, and a bit much considering how cold out it was.

Thirdly, holy shit are the backs of cop cars cramped. I was forced into the car and unkindly pushed into the seats. When I tried to get my legs in a comfortable position, I found that I couldn't. The hard leather was, as you might have guessed, uncomfortably hard, and there was no place I could get purchase or comfortably wedge my legs into without the leather cutting into my flanks several seconds later. A lot of squirming was done before I finally just gave up and sulked, periodically adjusting my legs every time it got uncomfortable.

Fourthly, cops make for poor conversation partners when they're driving you to the Magister's palace. I tried to strike up some conversation, mostly preceded by assertions of my innocence, and was met with stony silence. Maybe he was normally this reserved with every criminal he had ever busted, and I wasn't a special case. Or maybe it was the opposite. Or maybe I was doing the conversation thing wrong. Who knows.

Fifthly, ow damn it shit I just banged my head this is not cool what the hell ow ow am I getting another frigging lump on my head oh land of Avalice this sucks super hard can I please not end up on tomorrow's news?

Sixthly…

Wait…

I can't think of anything right now. Did I bang my head that hard?

Screw it.

The short version is that getting arrested sucks.

However, there is a really good way to avoid being arrested that doesn't boil down to 'be a good citizen.'

You ready for it? Here it comes.

Don't be a menace in Shang Tu while drinking your juice in the 'hood.

Wait, no, that's all wrong. Here's the real piece of advice.

Don't be me.

I was frog-marched to a set of wooden double doors. The doors were flanked by two guards, who were apparently paid to do their best impression of stone gargoyles. Their thousand yard gazes were unsettling, and I wasn't sure if it was because I was technically a criminal and thus reading too much into the stares, or because they were just that good.

One of them nodded to the officer. "This the guy?"

I couldn't see Officer Ken's face, but the affirmative grunt followed by the unlocking of the doors said all that I needed to know. From there, it was a short walk up a carpeted and ornate staircase that was flanked by several stone columns and luminescent lights, followed by another set of double doors, and I was staring at what had to be the main hall of the palace.

The Magister's palace was enormous, for lack of a better word.

The main hall opened into a large, arched ceiling that had a painting of a yellow-scaled dragon of old with ruby-red eyes, either coiling or stretching out and looking very majestic in its entirety. Maybe it was just me, though, but I was pretty sure the eyes were following me around, waiting to pass judgment for my crimes. You know, the crimes I didn't commit.

The ceiling aside, the red carpet led directly to the Magister's throne, where it opened out to a circular balcony that looked out over the city of Shang Tu. The view was flanked by several bannered columns and strategically placed lights that illuminated the hall, and you could see out across the entire city for miles. I was sure it tended to be much more breath-taking at morning rather than the evening, but the patchwork of lights across the city made for a passable spectacle. The lack of a draft blowing in most likely meant the balcony had transparent glass or something similar.

And of course, there was the Magister, flanked by his right-hand woman, Neera Li. The Magister was dressed from head to toe with royal garments, deep blue with yellow accents. As always, his face looked just like a pair of large, piercing, unblinking violet eyes, the rest shrouded by the helmet that he wore. Neera had similarly piercing purple eyes and was dressed in a priestess's garb, a flowing purple dress with white accents that ended just below the knees, and she was wielding her staff off-handedly. On any other woman, the outfit would've been breath-takingly beautiful. But on Neera, while it certainly added to her looks, it somehow also added much more to her cold, solemn and severe demeanor. Naturally, it stood out much more than her looks.

I gulped at the sight of the combined political power. I hoped it wasn't audible from thirty feet away.

The Magister spoke, his voice practically booming.

"I see you have apprehended the perpetrator."

Officer Ken stepped out from behind me and bowed deeply.

"Yes, my lord."

"Good work. Release him, and you may go."

There was warmth in that voice when he addressed the officer. But when the officer had unlocked my cuffs and left, and the Magister's attention turned to me, his voice had turned cold and harsh.

"So you have arrived, Samuel Swift. You are aware of the charges against you, correct?"

My mouth had gone dry. It's not often that you get a chance to talk to the Magister, but I wasn't expecting my first meeting to be in the context of being brought up on criminal charges. I knew he was especially tough on criminals and liars.

I choked the words out of my mouth. They came out sounding squeaky, which was a great first impression.

"Uh, yeah, I'm aware."

The Magister renewed his piercing stare on me.

"Are you also aware of the penalties of these crimes?"

I stayed silent for a few seconds, not trusting my voice.

"Very well," the Magister said, the words sardonic. "The sale of illegal weaponry is punishable by twenty years in prison, non-negotiable. Bribery and slander are three years minimum. You lead quite the double life for a mere tabloid journalist, Mr. Swift. What do you have to say for yourself?"

I winced first. Then the wince turned into an awkward smile, with no trace of humor in it.

"...do I get a lawyer? And a phone call?"

"No. If this was a regular criminal trial, perhaps, but you are here because I summoned you. The normal amenities of the accused do not apply under my summons. And quite frankly, judging by your appearance, I see nothing about you that would indicate the charges are wrongful."

My mouth opened and shot off words before checking in with the rest of my brain. I don't usually do that. But maybe the nerves were getting to me.

"Well, gee, I'm so sorry I look like a pile of hammered shit, Mr. Magister guy," I spat out, the heat rising with every word as I furiously counted off my fingers. "I only had to get beat up, kidnapped, get shot in the face, get my place trashed, endure the g-forces of a motorcycle running at two hundred MPH and have my milk spoil on me AGAIN. So excuse me if I don't look like a frigging diplomat, you sanctimonious, condescending, self-righteous son of a -"

I didn't get the last word out because at that moment, the air suddenly became very cold. And in seconds, I found myself encased in sub-zero ice. I couldn't move or breathe, and it was way, way too damn cold to think. I could only hear my teeth clicking against each other while I shivered uncontrollably as the seconds stretched to minutes, minutes stretched to hours, hours stretched to years, years stretched to eternities….

And then a crackling sound. I saw a crack in the ice that expanded at alarming speed, before finally breaking apart outwards. Somehow, no shards fell on me. But because I just can't catch a break, I lost my balance and fell to the floor, hugging myself while I sucked in greedy breaths. So much for good impressions.

Neera had pointed her staff at me in an attempt to silence my slanderous, vitriolic heresy. And it worked. I suddenly didn't feel like doing a lot of anything that involved talking or defending myself.

The Magister was clearly livid; his pupils had shrunk dangerously and he carried himself with a bitter stiffness.

"I am appalled at your absolute lack of respect for the position you are in, and myself. Neera. Take this man to the holding cells. I do not wish to see him until the morrow."

Neera bowed to him, respect in her eyes.

"Of course, Magister."

Then she turned to me, contempt and daggers in her eyes. She forced me to my feet and purposefully marched me to a nearby door. Her face did all the talking for us, and I was humbled (and cold) enough to stay silent. The Magister looked at us go, and then watched the view of Shang Tu at night.

Thanks, mouth. That was a bang-up job. You really killed it back there. Good job.

Of course, our first stop wasn't the holding cells. I was first taken to a shower room of sorts and was stripped down to my underwear, my recorder and tape confiscated in the process. In hindsight, Spade labeling it may not have been the best idea, because Neera's scowl deepened upon reading the label. Avalice knew what kind of thoughts were running through that woman's head, but they couldn't have been bright and cheery.

I was then blasted with cold water for several minutes. I was shivering, but it wasn't a bone-deep shivering like it had been when I got frozen. When I politely asked for a change of clothes, I had a pink flower kimono with sandals on top forcefully thrust into my hands. I got the message right away.

After I changed into the kimono and sandals, feeling vaguely ridiculous in the outfit, I was then led by the arm to the holding cells. Rather than being brightly lit like the main hall had been, the holding cells were darker and danker, with only green bioluminescent crystals sporadically spread out across the cells for lighting. The air was still and quiet, and our footsteps echoed throughout the hall. I felt creeped out by the whole thing, and I probably wouldn't have been surprised if we had been ganked by a nocturnal alien monster at any point during our trip.

As it was, we passed through rows of cells. The cells were mostly empty, but some were holding nefarious prisoners of fate who had probably done something super badass to warrant a spot in the holding cells and were noticeably not wearing kimonos, before Neera picked an empty cell at random. The bars were made of shimmering yellow-green energy, and there was a keypad next to it. Neera punched in some keys and the bars parted. I was marched into the cell and pushed lightly into it. The energy bars sparked back to life in seconds, effectively sealing me away from freedom.

I experimentally gripped the bars. They were surprisingly cool to the touch.

"Uh, so can I get my recorder and tapes back?"

Neera's eyes flashed with scorn.

"And pray tell, Mr. Swift, what makes you believe a criminal such as you is entitled to your personal possessions?" I could practically feel the icicles in the air as she talked.

I sighed. "...well, it was worth a shot anyway."

"No matter. The Magister wishes to speak with you tomorrow. I would hope you learn how to guard your tongue and show respect to your superiors by then."

I felt a quip coming on. After seeing what she was capable of doing, though, I wasn't sure I wanted to lower the woman's already low opinion of me.

So instead, I bit my tongue and nodded vigorously. See, I can do the diplomacy thing just fine.

Her gaze lingered on my face, apparently trying to ascertain my guilt. Then she abruptly broke the gaze and walked down the stone floor, her footsteps echoing all the way until they faded out of earshot.

With nothing to keep me company, I examined the surroundings of my cell. It was a drab square with a bed and a toilet in separate corners. A crystal was pulsating nearby, emitting a dull, green light. I idly wondered how the sleeping thing would work with a crystal five feet from the bed. It was probably just something that you got used to.

I took off the sandals and collapsed on the bed. The mattress was hard and unyielding, clearly designed so that no one got too comfortable trying to sleep, and the blankets were thin and only barely fit the bed. At least the pillows were soft compared to the rest of the bed...which wasn't saying much considering how low the standard was to start with.

My thoughts wandered as I tried to make sense of the situation. Jail was certainly not in the plans for my future. But assuming the Mayor and the Magister were super tight with each other, I wasn't under the impression I'd be seeing much of the sun for a long, long while as long as it was my word against the Mayor. Hell, depending on how much the Magister hated my guts, there was the very real possibility that I'd live out the rest of my life in prison, just for asking questions. I certainly didn't help my case by mouthing off to the Magister, but just the thought of life in prison was super unfair.

Thoughts swirled into conspiracy theories, most likely with a justifiable basis behind them. Conspiracy theories morphed into doomsday scenarios. Doomsday scenarios morphed into sheer boredom. Sheer boredom morphed into laments of innocence. I think there was poetry somewhere in there.

It felt like years had passed before I finally closed my eyes. And only five minutes later, the bars were sparking to life, startling me awake.

A tiger guard was prodding the bars periodically with his nightstick. I put my slippers on and approached the bars.

"The Magister wants to see you, son."

I groaned and blinked my eyes rapidly. "Yeah, yeah, all right...what time is it again?"

"Five in the morning," he said, as if that was a normal occurrence.

I guess that was technically tomorrow, but damn. I don't even normally wake up that early for my own job.

The guard looked me over and grinned. "Nice kimono, by the way. My daughter likes that kind of dress."
I wasn't even going to dignify that with a response. I hoped the stare I gave him said all that needed to be said.

I waited patiently as the guard punched in some numbers and the bars lowered. Then I was just following him around as he led me out of the cells and into yet another unfamiliar part of the Magister's palace. Several twisting hallways and winding staircases later, we had apparently arrived at my destination.

The guard inclined his head ever so slightly, then walked off. It was a non-verbal assertion that I was on my own here. I waited several seconds before slowly opening the door.

The room was surprisingly bare. There was just the Magister sitting in a chair and facing the door, his gloved hands folded. There was a table with several implements on it and a spare chair. Otherwise, this could've just been a medium-sized utility closet with how barren the decoration was. I closed the door behind me and slowly walked to the chair, feeling extremely self-conscious all of a sudden.

Only when I sat down did he turn his chair to face me.

"Would you like to drink some tea?"

My eyes darted to the teapot and the cups on the table.

"Uh. Sure. I guess. Maybe."

The Magister gripped the teapot and poured tea into both cups. I took one and sipped lightly. It tasted positively herbal, most likely some form of sencha green tea.

"Is the tea to your liking?"

I wondered if this was going somewhere.

"Yes?"

"Very good." He sounded sincere, somehow.

Several tense seconds passed as we sipped more tea and I waited for him to start the interview that would most likely get my ass locked behind prison bars.

"I find that even the most heinous of criminals deserve a measure of respect."

I stayed silent, not quite sure how to respond.

"All you are obligated to do is to answer my questions truthfully. If you lie to me, I will not be lenient with your punishment. I despise liars."

The words were heavy, but there was no heat behind the words. Just a statement of fact, nothing more, nothing less.

I idly wondered if Spade took lessons from the Magister. Or if they weren't all that different from each other to start with.

"Now then. How would you characterize your relationship with the Red Scarves?"

I looked around nervously before answering.

"Thus far? I'd say it's pretty antagonistic."

The Magister fixed me with a piercing stare. "And yet this 'antagonistic' relationship would see you smuggling in fifty million crystals worth of illegal weaponry into the kingdom of Shang Tu. Interesting."

I blinked.

"Uh. Would it matter if I told you I had nothing to do with any of that?"

The Magister sipped more tea. I think I liked it better when he was talking.

"I am told that the Mayor Zao was spirited away by a Red Scarf member from his palace in Shang Mu. He was held against his will and forced to watch as a deal took place, and you were the one who brought in the weaponry, flanked by two roguish criminals. Then, the Scarves used him as target practice while you watched the spectacle and laughed, as if it were an entertainment show. And after the deal was over, you had the gall to offer him five million crystals to stay quiet about the deal."

The story was so full of holes that I was struggling to not laugh out loud at how absurd it was, for fear of somehow weakening my case even further. Zao had literally swapped his role around with mine and embellished the entire thing for emotional torque. The sheer audacity of that, when he almost literally mashed his face up against mine and asked me if I had any last words, was hilarious.

Something must have shown on my face, though, because the Magister's eyes widened slightly, as if he were confused about something.

"Is there something funny, Mr. Swift?"

"Yeah, actually." The giggles escaped from my throat before I could stop them, and I decided I just didn't care; my reputation was already shot as it was, and it couldn't possibly go any lower. "I can't believe how dumb this Zao guy is."

The Magister had a quizzical look on his face. "Explain yourself."

"Okay, for starters, I was the guy who was held against my will. I was the guy who watched as Zao brought in a frigging weapon chest. And I bet he never told you that he tried to get me killed, and literally sat three inches from my face and asked me if I had anything to say before I died. Am I right?"

The Magister put his cup down and laid his hands on the table.

"This is troubling news. But even assuming that you are telling the truth, I cannot just take your word at face value. It is my position to take any threats against political leaders seriously, for the sake of Avalice as well as Shang Tu. Do you have any proof to back up these claims?"

Something snapped around the time he said 'for the sake of Avalice'. I banged my fist on the table. It hurt, but I didn't care.

"You are so full of shit, Magister. Can't be all that concerned about 'the sake of Avalice' when you commissioned a weapon of mass destruction several years ago!"

The Magister's eyes slowly widened as he drew himself up, possibly in an attempt to seem taller than he was.

"...Excuse me?" Anger tinged his words.

"Damn it, don't play stupid with me! See, I'm a journalist, first and foremost, so it's my job to find out what's going on behind the scenes and write about it, even if it means stupid shit like celebrity gossip and holiday articles. You want proof? I have frigging Spade on tape saying you sent him on a contract to fix your screw-up after some asshole stole your WMD and tried to blow up the Three Kingdoms!"

More words came tumbling out. The metaphorical dam had cracked, and water was seeping out in a deluge that threatened to engulf my subconscious.

"All this time. All this damn time, while you were giving bullshit speeches about bringing peace and harmony to Avalice, you had a goddamn WMD sitting around, waiting to use it on the first guy who dared to go against you! My parents voted for you because they thought you were the change Avalice needed. What kind of 'peace and harmony' do you achieve with a WMD?! What the hell is wrong with you?! What the FUCK do you have to say for yourself, you fucking hypocrite?!"

The echoes of my furious shouting bounced around the room.

The room fell into silence for a tense half-minute.

The Magister rose from his chair slowly.

"I would like to hear this tape for myself, Mr. Swift."

Several minutes later, Neera walked into the room, holding my recorder.

She bowed deeply to the Magister.

"Good morning, Magister. I was told you called for me?"

"Thank you for coming, Neera. I have heard...troubling claims, and I wish to confirm their veracity."

Neera looked me over once again and raised an eyebrow, with none of the previous hostility she had displayed.

"Certainly. Is there anything else you need?"

The Magister let out a long sigh.

"I would also like you to stay. If Mr. Swift is telling the truth, I suspect I may need your assistance."

Neera's formerly dutiful face turned quizzical. She wordlessly placed the recorder on the table and pressed Play.

Spade's cold, near-impassive voice came to life. In just over a half hour, he described the last contract he had worked with Coral. Compared to the interview with the ex-Scarves, he sounded much more sure of himself, hardly stumbling over his words or adding filler where it didn't belong. And of course, he laid out the damning bombshell that would confirm the veracity of my claims.

The recorder went dead shortly after. The Magister closed his eyes and rested his still-darkened face on his hands, and Neera had once more assumed a dutiful, impassive look. I just stood there like a knob, waiting for someone to say something.

The Magister sighed. "I see. So the Red Scarves were not entirely truthful with Spade in the end. How unfortunate."

I blinked twice. "What the hell are you trying to say?"

Neera once again had a flash of irritation in her eyes, but the Magister raised a hand and shook his head, as if trying to say 'don't freeze the messenger'.

"As it is, everything that was said in this tape was true. I was the one who sent the contract to the Scarves, and the object that was stolen from Shang Tu was indeed used as a WMD. But as with all lies, the best way to shroud the truth is to veil it in half-truths, or omit parts of it entirely. I suspect that is what happened here."

Huh. Okay.

"As a leader, the choices I have to make are rarely clear-cut. It is never as simple as correct or incorrect, good or bad, right or wrong. Therefore, the question is only whether one is willing to accept the burden of walking in the grey, for what is grey but a combination of white and black? You may call me a hypocrite, Mr. Swift, and unfortunately, there have been times where my vision for Avalice conflicted with what had to be done for the greater good. I am not proud of these moments, and I agonize over the consequences of the hard choices I have had to make almost daily. This contract was one such moment."

The Magister fell silent, and Neera picked up the hanging thread, as if on cue. It felt vaguely like I was watching a play.

"We take the worldwide unlimited energy of the Kingdom Vortex for granted now, but for decades, centuries even, there have been problems with the Kingdom Stone. Simple geography made it impossible for every single civilization to reap the benefits of the Kingdom Stone, and many nations have resented the Three Kingdoms for their relative proximity to the Kingdom Stone. How can you ask entire nations to be reasonable when they find themselves unable to match the technological innovations the Three Kingdoms have made, forced to rely on inferior, inefficient substitutions for energy?

"And yet, this jealousy brought out the drive to make a replacement that was similar to or superior to the Kingdom Stone. A rising star of the Outer Kingdoms, one such person from Nam Dinh worked tirelessly on such a project. It took a decade and a half, but this man had finally created technology that would extend the influence of the Kingdom Stone to the Outer Kingdoms. In theory, that is."

The Magister nodded sagely. He took a deep breath.

"I was impressed by this man's work, and commissioned work on this technology in the hopes of eventually bringing clean energy to all of Avalice and ending the tension the Outer Kingdoms had for us. But it only took several months before our engineers would discover a fatal flaw in how the technology worked.

"It was not intended as a weapon of mass destruction. However, this technology was able to absorb energy from not only the Kingdom Stone, but also from the various substitutions the Outer Kingdoms used, and release that energy at one hundred times the magnitude. This would have a destructive effect when used in that way; hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, would perish in the ensuing explosion, and cities the size of Shuigang would be disintegrated in mere seconds.

"This was quite alarming news. While this function would most likely not be discovered by the general public for years to come, it only takes one person to misuse such technology and make the rest suffer, and it would be extremely irresponsible for this technology to go out in the state it was. Our engineers attempted to work with this person, find alternatives that still allowed the technology to do its intended function without the threat of a doomsday-level explosion looming over our heads. But nothing worked; the clean energy would either be so minuscule as to be not worth the expense, or it would negatively impact the Kingdom Stone, or it would simply not function.

"There was no hope for a solution that would solve all of these issues and still function as intended. So, with what I knew, I was forced to cut funding for the technology and decommission it indefinitely. However, it took quite a toll on this person. He was initially an idealistic, reasonable man, but he rapidly became mentally ill. He became the ruler of Nam Dinh a year later, and orchestrated a raid to steal the technology we had decommissioned several months later. Needless to say, he was successful.

"We had no legal options to solve the problem peaceably. The technology was initially for our eyes only, but this person had reached out to the rest of the Outer Kingdoms with promises of a technology that would end their suffering. They were united against us; in the blink of an eye, we were demonized as arrogant hoarders of vital technology that would solve every problem the Outer Kingdoms had with energy. Negotiations were not feasible, as their representatives would not hear a word we said. To go to war with Nam Dinh would see us winning the war, but justifying the fears the Outer Kingdoms had for us, and turning our allies against us at the same time."

The Magister poured himself another cup of tea (still steaming hot, somehow) and drank deeply while Neera cleared her throat.

"However, we did have one option. The Red Scarves, as you would know, are an organized crime association. They do not discern between factions; they will gladly take contracts from anyone, anywhere, for a price. And they were extremely skilled at what they did, always getting the job done no matter what was asked of them.

"I convinced the Magister that the Scarves were our best chance at solving the problem quickly and efficiently. He was...hesitant, though. It took several weeks for us to get on the same page, as he was adamant that using the Scarves to solve the problem ran counter to his vision for Avalice. Eventually, though, pragmatism won out over ideals. We were intentionally vague with the details, for we feared the consequences if our messenger was intercepted and interrogated for information. And the rest is history."

The Magister put his cup down and spread his hands.

"Do you see now, Mr. Swift? Do you see the dilemma we were faced with, and why I did what I had to?"

Lost for words, I could only non-verbally agree.

The heat of my anger had seeped out of me. What was left couldn't be neatly described or quantified.

I just felt cold.