Hilde: Hello?
One: Hey, Hilde.
Hilde: Ray?
One: Yep.
Hilde: Why aren't you calling me on your phone?
One: I need you to come down to the Central Community Precinct on Two Hundred Fifty-first Street.
Hilde: Is everything okay?
One: Everything's fine.
Hilde: Then why aren't you—
One: I got caught taking records from a music...Shoplifting.
Hilde: Heldos Elkos, Ray! You got arrested?
One: It's not that deep. They're not locking me up. They just need you to pick me up.
Hilde: Do I have to bail you out?
One: It's a warning! They can't do anything to me over a warning. I got nothing on my record, remember?
Hilde: You realize what this means, right?
One: ...Just come and pick me up.
Hilde: Raven.
One: ...
Hilde: I'll be right there.
I jam the phone back into the receiver and try to brush past Officer Stick-Up-Her-Ass without a word. She moves from her leaning position against the wall and pushes herself in front of me, one muscular arm extended and pressed against the wall, the other on her hip, just above her belt.
"All good?" she asks in the fakest polite voice I've heard since middle school.
"Mmhmm," I reply, attempting to snake underneath her arm.
The officer lets herself fall back into a lean, blocking my path. She folds her dark arms under her thick chest, causing the silver badge on her shoulder to catch the fluorescent light overhead. It gleams "Lieutenant Roberts" into my eyes, as if reminding me in some inanimate, douche way, your ass just got arrested for a fuckboy.
"You should be grateful I let you off with a warning," Roberts remarks through her sly grin. "This coulda been a lot worse."
"I don't care," I growl back. She remains a wall in front of me, and for a moment I consider using my enhanced strength to toss her down the hall in one punch. "Can I go?"
Roberts sighs and leads me through the series of corridors. I keep my fists balled in my pockets and my head down as we pass by office doors. Even though they let me off, if my face gets caught directly on one of these cameras, hunting me down would be made much easier for the Mogs.
Just as we're nearing the end of the last hallway, an office door swings open beside us. Out walks a tall man with a round face. Unlike Roberts' uniform, his is a dark suit, the jacket which reads FBI on his sleeves. Clipped to his belt is a gold badge. As the man approaches, Roberts stops and salutes.
"At ease," he says, barely looking at her. Instead, he slows down and lets his eyes fall on me. "Who's this?"
"Nothing serious, Murphy," she replies. "Just some little kid about to be picked up by grandma."
"Hmm," Murphy, the FBI agent, sizes me up. Something about the way his eyes wander makes me want to gouge them from his saucer-shaped face. Suddenly, he squints hard at the floor. At my sandals. "What's this?"
Shit.
Murphy kneels down and points at my left ankle. "Roberts, you ever seen anything like this before?"
"Huh," and now Roberts is standing over me again, staring me down. "I honestly didn't notice that."
"Sure, let's just crowd around my feet," I hiss. As I start to walk away, Murphy stands and grabs my arm. "Let go of me!"
"Where'd you get the brand, kid?"
"None of your fucking business," I answer, wrenching my arm free from his grip.
Immediately, Roberts leads me into this nosy asshole's office, tells me to sit in the chair facing the desk. Over his desk, I can see the plaque that reads DETECTIVE. Officer Roberts sees me staring at the word, looks down at me and mutters, "I told you this could get worse."
Murphy crosses the room and stands before me, leaning back on his desk. He pulls a notepad and pencil out from his jacket and He flips the pad open. With his pencil hovering over the page, Murphy begins his interrogation.
"Is this why you were stealing those records?" Murphy asks. "You in a sort of initiation?"
"I steal when I want, asshole," I answer, trying not to meet his gaze. "No one makes me."
He scribbles something down, muttering to himself before the next barrage of questions:
"If it's not an initiation, are you claiming you're not affiliated in a gang?"
"I'm claiming that you guys should let me the fuck out of this place. I'm tired of this."
"Your grandmother is who's picking you up—did she brand you?"
"Pssh."
"That a no?"
"That all you gonna ask?"
"Is the beach where you received the brand?"
"Yeah, I'm in a gang called the Space Invaders. We do surf-by shootings. No lifeguard can stop us."
With every answer, Detective Murphy writes down something in the notepad. He stops after my joke about the "Space Invaders" game, scrolls his notes with his eyes, annotating them. I start tapping my nails against the arm of the chair, so hard to the point I accidentally chip the leather. Whatever he's writing, it seems to be requiring a lot of afterthought. But of course, he's never gonna be able to connect my "brand" with the Charm.
Murphy looks up at me and stares with round eyes. When he's done with his notes, Murphy drops the notepad beside him on the desk and launches his pencil at me without looking. I scrunch my nose and use my telekinesis to deflect it, sending it crashing into the file cabinet next to me. Luckily, Roberts doesn't notice in time; she's been standing over me ever since she dragged me into this damn room.
"Stay here," Murphy goes around to his desk and opens a drawer. He turns back to me as he reaches into the drawer with hard, knowing eyes.
Detective Murphy lifts a camera out of the drawer.
My stomach turns as he starts the camera up. I'm too startled to speak by my awareness at what's about to happen. He looks away from me and up at Officer Roberts. "She been charged with anything?"
"Just a warning," Roberts answers, unaware that she's prolonging my death sentence. "Why? Should I get—?"
"No. I'll just need a picture of the kid and her scar."
He aims the camera at me. My breath stops, getting caught deep in my throat almost all the way to my lungs. I try to start to lift my hands as the green dot appears next to the lens, but I don't want to cause any more confusion. If I resist too aggressively, they'll know something's wrong and try to throw me in a cell. But I'm not strong enough to react calmly to this.
Even if I'm only filed under a warning, Dicktective Murphy will have these pictures on file. If there's even a chance they could get uploaded online, that means the Mogadorians can find it.
They can find me.
I'm gonna fucking die.
The camera flash goes off and I squeeze my eyes shut, helpless as the light consumes me and my world falls apart.
YOU ARE READING
The Quest of One
Fanfiction"First blessed, first to die." Those were some of the last words I remember being said in my own language, before setting foot on Earth. That defined who I was, and who I would need to be in order to survive on this planet. My defiance of that calli...
