Jormungandr's Venom

by Kal Spriggs

“Quiet, or I’ll use the shockrod.” The guard sounded as though he wanted to use the shockrod. “You’re under arrest.”

  “I need to see the editor,” Clarence protested. “Let me go and ...”

  The guard hefted his shockrod. Clarence shut up. The guard smirked, then half-dragged him to the elevators and shoved him inside. Clarence swallowed, hard, as the elevator headed downwards. He’d heard whispered rumours of ... things ... under the building, but it had never occurred to him that the newspaper might have a jail. A shopping mall might have a holding cell for shoplifters to hold them until the police arrived, yet ... he found it hard to believe there was a jail under the building. It was far more likely that any miscreants would be summarily fired.

  Like you, he thought, as the guard shoved him into a small office. His own thoughts came back to mock him. You got fired and now you got arrested.

  “Sit,” the guard grunted, shoving Clarence onto a bench. “Stay.”

  “Woof,” Clarence said, sarcastically. “I know my rights and ...”

  The guard shrugged. Clarence wondered, suddenly, what his rights actually were. His press ID was in his pocket, but it had probably been cancelled by now. The police weren’t likely to be gentle with a former reporter, not when they realised he’d fallen from grace. The only people who hated reporters more than the police were soldiers ... Clarence cursed under his breath. He had enemies, of course. Every reporter had enemies, from people who thought they’d been slandered to people who’d been exposed by the press. And now he was as naked and vulnerable as he’d been the day he was born.

  He tried to force himself to relax, but it was futile. He’d fucked himself. The police were going to come and ... and he was going to go to jail. There was no way he could afford bail, not now. Minnie certainly couldn’t raise the money to get her husband out of the lockup, not when their savings were likely to be seized to pay their debts. And the police probably wouldn’t offer him the chance, even if he could pay. A former reporter in gen-pop ... the police could probably make money selling the recordings of him being shanked by an inmate who hated the press. Clarence could name a dozen people who’d pay to see him humiliated.

  And yesterday seemed such a great day, he thought. Yesterday, he’d been at the top of his game. Now, he was cuffed in a cell, waiting for the police. He wondered, morbidly, if the police would bother to inform his wife. They might walk him past a tame judge and sentence him to deportation without further ado. What the hell do I do now?

  To read more, go to https://www.amazon.com/Cry-Wolf-Empires-Corps-Book-ebook/dp/B07NBR44N7/ !