Before long, we arrived at Dejon's assigned precinct.
It was along one of the main streets in City Three, though I hardly had the chance to get a good look at it while in my squalid holding bay. While my vision was limited, I was able to tell that it was a rather impressive building with a gated lot that was plotted with palm trees and a main entrance surrounded by grooved columns. Dejon made a direct yet smooth turn into the lot and began making our gradual ascent towards the building.
We did not stop in the front lot, however, for Dejon kept driving down another road that ran alongside the building towards the back area. He had explained to me telepathically that convicts would normally be brought through the main entrance, but not before receiving a few public beatdowns to set a transparent example to any possibly conspiring citizen walking by. The especially 'offensive' recidivist, which covered many transgressions that equated to killing an officer or a few more, would be taken around the back for more aggressive incarcerations.
I was concerned about the treatment I would inevitably receive being as committed as I was to the plan, though Dejon reassured me that they would likely have me follow him if I were docile enough. He had found me in the wilderness, I wasn't of this world, I had no record in the index, and I was willing to cooperate. Regardless of how the other officers felt about me, our only goal was to get inside and into the interrogation room. That's when things would become more intuitive.
"Homestead Bermuda, this is 3881. Arriving at receiving and transfer; internee is alien and submissive. Require additional surveillance in case of aggression," Dejon radioed ahead on his com as we rounded the building.
"Copy, 3881. Administrative permission for additional surveillance accepted. Awaiting transfer."
A moment later, Dejon began to slow his transport as we arrived at the rear prisoner exchange. I had dreaded finally reaching this phase of the plan because of how delicate it had to be handled. The key was not to feel afraid, yet look very much afraid. I had to give them what they wanted to see, a task that was also put on Dejon. Should he be called to beat me, I had to let him. I prayed for the both of us as we rolled to a gentle stop with little momentum shift.
Looking out from my narrow window, I saw that we stopped in front of a simple metal door with those circular locks fixed to the nob, much like the ones I saw back at the depot, and its light changed from orange to green right before opening up, and a small squad of metro cops began to pool out, wielding either stun batons and sidearms. 'Showtime, Krystal. Just play along and we'll do fine.' Dejon reviewed telepathically as he began to step out of the transport.
'I'll follow your lead,' I confirmed, right before he slammed the door behind him, effectively cutting my link off save the narrow openings through my windows.
"Fancy seeing you, 3881," one of the cops outside said. "Didn't think you could actually find anything out there."
"This job is crap, but it has its moments; like this one," Dejon said as he reared around to the back doors to the hold. "C'mere. I wanna show you all what I found. I think you'll find it interesting."
"It better be if you phoned in assistance," one cop said. "What'd you reel in for us?"
"Something new for us, I would wager," Dejon said, stepping up on the rear stepping and making the rear dip a little. Dejon opened up the doors, letting all the light flood in, and the masked eyes of all the officers―five in total excluding Dejon―now had a clear view of me appropriately cowering at the sight of them.
"What the…?" one of the officers recoiled in confusion at the sight of me.
"The hell is that?"
"Definitely not a vort."
"No shit, stupid, it's a football mascot."
"You're calling me stupid?!"
"3881, where'd you wrangle that thing from?" one of the officers inquired, much more formally unlike the others.
"By the dunes in sector eight," Dejon fibbed. "She came along willingly―might be lost. She's harmless enough, but I had to put a muzzle and cuffs on her just in case."
"I'll believe harmless when I see it," one of the officers insisted, twisting his baton around in his grip.
"Fine. I'll show you." Dejon put one foot into the hold and slowly reached his hand out to me. "Hey, come on up. They're friends. They won't hurt you," he told me, curling his fingers in a 'come here' motion.
Remaining consistent with the fretful and passive act I was putting on, I blinked at him a few times and tried to come to a stand, though it was not so easy with my hands cuffed behind my back. Dejon stepped back to allow me room to step out onto the lot, and the other officers did the same, keeping a wary hand on their issued weapons.
Dejon kept a gentle hand on my shoulder as I stood next to him in a submissive hunch. "Look. See? Harmless," Dejon presented, rubbing my shoulder―serving as a way to comfort me in both show and truth. I was now reading all of their thoughts, and virtually all of them transmitted an identical sense of wonder, though the hardened hearts I knew they had made me watchful of them (dually aiding to enhance my façade).
"It's a girl…?"
"And she's got a tail."
"She's kinda cute."
"It's those puppy-dog eyes, I swear."
Of course, not all minds present were equally intrigued by me―specifically the one I sensed right behind me. I could hear his thoughts clearly; he was seconds away from stunning me with his baton while the others weren't looking. Instead of panicking internally, I was going to relay this development to Dejon, but the aggressor made his move quickly.
"Yeah, too willing to cooperate I say…" the officer rumbled with distrust, accompanied by a loud crackling sound. An explosion of searing pain then erupted along my spinal cord, subsequently spreading across my whole body. I yelled in genuine pain before I collapsed to the ground, stiff and writhing in crippling agony.
Most of the other officers were taken aback by the act inflicted on me, but none more so than Dejon for a variety of important reasons. "What the hell?!" he turned to his rouge colleague. While I could barely move, I was able to hear and see the ensuing altercation by stiffly turning my head.
"I don't trust it. It came along too willingly. No doubt a farse," the brutal officer said, his stun baton still sparking with electricity.
"She was cooperating, you idiot! Now she'll never tell us what she knows."
The officer that struck me instead said nothing and simply looked at Dejon with an unmistakable contempt, noticeable even through his mask. "You're always so damn soft on your detainees, 3881," he said, phrasing Dejon's number in quite a demeaning way. "When has going easy on them ever made things better for us?"
"A variance of strategy can go a long way," Dejon argued, sizing up his other. "When has anyone been shown an ounce of compassion?"
"'Compassion'? Compassion is dead, 3881. They killed it…" The officer began to ignite his stun baton again, expressing clear malicious intent towards my undercover friend. "Should I inform our higher-ups of your unwillingness to shed your weakness? I hear that the Canary Precinct is in need of a custodial stalker…"
"Oh, you mother―!" Dejon and the other officer then broke out into a gruesome physical altercation right behind me, dealing nasty blows to each other, though thankful Dejon managed to knock the baton out of the other's hand first.
The other officers who had been watching were running over to break up the fight and nearly succeeding in pulling the two apart until a new filtered voice appeared on the scene, though I sensed his approaching before the fight started, and now he was furious once it did.
"ENOUGH!" a harrowing distorted shriek erupted from the door to the building, making all the officers freeze and turn to the new arrival. It was another metro cop, though his uniform was mostly black and had bold red stripes on his vest and sleeves, a telltale sign of higher authority. His mask was different too; though similar to the others, its two air filters were positioned on the chin area while a rectangular respirator was fixed over the mouth. What made this officer even more visually striking was that the eyes on his mask glowed a bright yellow, which made him all the more imposing as he marched with fury towards the fighter officers, effectively making the others back off at a safe distance―even I quickly rolled out his of the way.
"5836! You're in direct violation of code interlock! Stand down!"
Officer 5836, though startled by his superior's dramatic entrance, had more pride than he did fear. "Too bad you weren't here to see him throw the first punch, Captain," he angrily said. "This good-for-nothing sympathizer's going to get all of us trouble if you keep letting him―!"
With swift and frightening precision, the captain thrust his fist straight into 5836's mask, caving it in, and the recipient flung backwards onto the hard concrete ground ten feet away from me as the pieces of his broken mask scattered all over. Nobody dared to move or say anything, and I too was left in shocked silence over what transpired. The captain looked at the unconscious bully, whose exposed head face was turned away out of view, and began to rub his knuckles.
"Goddamned loose cannon…" he grumbled, the irony of his sentiment not really crossing his mind. He then turned to some of the wary officers. "You four, get him to the infirmary, and be sure he's kept in a holding cell after he's patched up."
"Affirmative," one of the officers replied obediently before they hurried over to 5836 and began to haul him away by the legs and feet, leaving no trace other than the fragments of a shattered mask, a lonely stun baton, and a small pool of blood. Myself and Dejon were now left alone in with the captain, and he, though still commanding an intimidating presence, was considerably more approachable now that the tension had passed.
"3881, is this your alien detainee?" he asked, pointing down at me.
"Affirmative, Captain," Dejon stated. "She is unusual but submissive. I request that I bring her to an interrogation room and inquire about her activities in the outlands."
The captain looked down at me again at my pathetic state, which wasn't entirely staged, unfortunately. Browsing his thoughts, he showed to be no less bewildered by my uncannily familiar appearance, though his mask helped him to, well...mask that bewilderment and dutifully remained focused on his priorities. "This creature speaks?"
"Not that I have heard yet, but she listens to me," Dejon said. The captain studied me for a long moment, his thoughts full of questions, though having none of the patience to try and find the answers to himself. That's what Dejon was for.
"Request granted, 3881," the captain authorised. "Lead her on; her legs look like they still work."
Nodding in compliance, Dejon walked over to me and tried to help my back up to my feet by wedging a hand underneath my arm and helping to ease my weight. My body was still sore from all the discharge that got sent into me as I rose to my feet with Dejon supporting me tentatively, making the captain muse at our apparent mutual understanding.
"What about 5836?" Dejon wondered. The captain flexed his gloved fingers as he pondered briefly.
"Don't worry about 5836; he'll be all right," he said, looking off in the direction where he was taken away. "Besides, I believe he needs a refresher in knowing that agitators also make preferred stalkers…" he added ominously, suggesting that he may have overheard their argument over their coms somehow.
Dejon then began to usher me inside the building shortly after, making sure to keep a good hand on my cuffs to show that he had dominance over me, though he was thankfully gentle about it. 'Are you okay?' he asked me telepathically.
'I feel marvellous,' I answered, grunting audibly as I staggered along.
'Sorry you had to go through all that, but at least the captain seems to like you.'
I wasn't sure that he truly did, but I appreciated Dejon for trying to make me feel a little better as we traversed the halls of the building.
'He is quite the gentlemen to so politely restrain himself in front of a lady,' I thought, indulging him a bit, which did manage to make Dejon audibly chuff.