Nobility

by Mason Dakota

  Are they allowed to bring guns into an interrogation room?

  The second Noble officer was lean and taller than his partner. He was about my height, but had a bigger build. His gelled black hair was brushed backwards and he sported a thin black freshly-trimmed goatee. He appeared much younger than his partner, and strutted with confidence and arrogance. I nearly choked to death on the smell of the man’s cologne.

  “Sit down! Who said you could leave, Outcast?” growled the shorter man as he pushed me back forcefully toward my chair.

  So much for sneaking out of here.

  I stumbled backwards and resisted the urge to fight my way out, choosing instead to stand by my chair ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. I didn’t care if it was a crime punishable by death; if these two even tried anything funny, I would fight back. I might end up dead, but it would be worth the risk.

  “Why am I here?’ I asked.

  The shorter man laid down a metal tablet on the table between us and said, “I’m Agent Lorre and this is Agent Murray. We work as detectives in the NPFC’s Special Division Task Force. We have some questions for you about what happened on the monorail tonight.”

  Well I guess that’s expected.

  After closing…and locking the door, they took their seats. I solemnly took mine across from them, accepting the fact that I was locked in with these two and had to play their game if I wanted to leave. I had a feeling our talk would take a while.

  “So, tell us,” started Lorre, as he pressed a button on his tablet and the screen lit up with some kind of report, “Mr. Nightlock. What’s your explanation of what happened on that train?”

  Something didn’t seem right about the way he asked the question. He didn’t trust me and looked at me like an exterminator looks at a rat. I sniffed out his game immediately. I figured he had already talked to other passengers, and now wanted to see how well my story would match theirs. I suppose he trusted hostages tied up more than the guy who wasn’t. Lying would get me killed here if I really was as bad of a liar as Ziavir showed. I’d heard enough about these two detectives. They were good at what they did and quick to uncover lies. But I also knew they could be as ruthless as the mobsters they arrested.

  “There were cameras on that train. Why don’t you review them? Shouldn’t they show you everything?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately the recordings were compromised, and the only footage we have show bits and pieces of the monorail being hijacked. In fact, that particular train was never supposed to be on those tracks. The trains connected to Clark Lake Station have a higher security screening, as well as more officers positioned at each station to prevent such high level high jacking. This was different. As you must already know, Mr. Nightlock, each train runs on only certain tracks throughout this city. Each train has its own electronic signature to prevent the wrong trains from driving onto the wrong tracks or junctions. However, someone took a train from our lowest security sector and apparently hacked into its coding to allow it to change tracks without tripping alarms. That caused the regular train to stall on the tracks and allowed this one, full of hostages and a bomb, to slip by and head right to the most populated station in the city to cripple this city’s infrastructure and kill countless individuals.

  “Now, you have two options. Option one: you cooperate by telling us everything. Option two: you refuse and we beat it out of you. Either way, we will get the information we want, but we are nice enough to let you choose your method of delivery.”

  And just to prove his point, Lorre reached into his pocket and drew it back out again clad in studded brass knuckles. I saw Agent Murray smirk. I guess they wanted me to resist.

  Gulp.

  “But I didn’t do anything!” I quickly said.

  “Your record speaks against you,” said Lorre.

  “My…record?” I asked a bit shocked.

  “Yes, you have a record, Outcast, and it amazes me that you are still breathing. You have multiple accounts of burglary, assault, thievery, and various other crimes against the Noble population of this city. And yet, not once have you ever been brought in for any of these crimes. It seems each time you can get away, without repercussions or consequences involving execution, because you have some powerful friends that protect you. That makes me very angry. Nobody should be above the law because they have strong connections. It makes it very difficult to not come across this table now and beat you to death. So don’t even think about playing around with me or I will throw orders out the window.”

  I was perplexed, but not so much that I didn’t notice Lorre’s knuckles grow white or the vein pop out on the side of his head. My world shattered in confusion. I had always thought I was skilled enough at my craft to not get caught because getting caught meant execution. At that moment, after hearing what Agent Lorre said, I felt my world tearing apart. These men threw rocks at the mirror of my life, and I realized how small I was.

  But, I had no clue who this powerful friend protecting me was that Lorre mentioned.

  My eyes darted to his tablet, where I could barely make out an image of me and my name on the screen. There were several lines of text beneath my photo. The truth could have been there, but there was no chance I’d be able to read it. Suddenly, Lorre leapt to his feet, punched the table with his brass knuckles and shouted, “It’s time to start talking, Outcast! Either tell us what you know or suffer execution!”

  His force left dents in the table. I was so numb by what Lorre had said about my survival that I didn’t react to his outburst. Slowly I looked up into his eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat.

  “I entered one of the mid cars to find the entire car held hostage by armed men,” I began my tale, “I was knocked out seconds later only to wake up chained to a pole in the first car sometime later. The man in charge called himself Ziavir Yiros. He shot a Noble woman to show how dangerous he was. He never asked any of the hostages for anything. He merely shot the woman to show his strength. Then he hinted to there being a bomb and jumped trains unexpectedly between stations. I then broke free of my handcuffs, found the bomb, and then managed to disarm it just in time so I could get knocked out again. Then I woke up here and now have the spectacular privilege to tell this to you two charming gentlemen.” I tried to be as straight forward as I could. I had no idea what any of the passengers had told already so the basics felt safe.

  Murray, who stood leaning in a far corner, crossed his arms and smiled. His movement exposed the gun at his side. The scary thing was that it was a machine gun pistol, and probably not standard issue.

  WHY DOES HE HAVE A MACHINE GUN PISTOL IN HERE?

  Murray eyed me seeing his piece and shifted to make it more revealing. He said nothing, but his expression dared me to make a move. I imagined how sickening I would look if he shot me with that in this tight proximity.

  This man may be just as psychotic as Ziavir.

  “Have you ever met Ziavir before?” asked Lorre, bringing me back to reality.

  “What?” I asked, confused by the man’s question.

  Lorre gritted his teeth and spit, “Have…you…ever…met…Ziavir Yiros…before?”

  Do they really think I’m a suspect here?

  Vague images of the past flashed through my mind once again. Emotions swelled up and suddenly I was a scared, naive boy again. Hate and fear filled me. I saw quick, grainy images and heard their terrible sounds.

  Ziavir knocking at my door.

  Two men in suits out in the yard.

  My father arguing with Ziavir in the dining room.

  My mother telling me to hide quietly in the attic.

  Shouting and screaming below me as I hid and cowered in fear.

  Fire that forced me out of hiding.

  My mother lying in a pool of her own blood.

  My father’s body on fire.

  A black sedan speeding away.

  Me left there alone.

  Yeah I had met the devil before tonight.

  “Something te
lls me you already know that answer,” I said trying to give Lorre a cold eye.

  “Relax, Griff, you look like you’ve wrestled with the devil,” cooed Murray. I hated the remark.

  “Are you incapable of saying my name? Or does it just have too many syllables for your little brain to pronounce?” I spat back.

  Murray slowly stepped toward the table and placed both hands on it as he leaned toward me, his machine gun pistol fully exposed and easily within my reach. The jerk was tempting me to go for it. I had half the mind to reach for it. “That is a sharp tongue you got there, boy. Your mother should have slapped some sense into you. It’s a shame good old Ziavir had to put bullets in your mommy and daddy before they could teach you your place before a Noble,” he said softly.

  I struck fast and hard without thinking. I didn’t care if I was signing my death warrant by doing so. Nobody insults my family, especially a Noble who took pleasure torturing Outcasts behind a badge. My blow connected across Murray’s upper cheekbone and he stumbled backward. It stung my fist and I was lucky I hadn’t broken any bones, but it felt so good and I could tell I gave him a black eye.

  Good. That will give him something to remember.

  I rushed to follow through for another punch before Lorre pushed us apart. “ENOUGH!” shouted Lorre. He turned and pointed a finger into Murray’s face saying, “You know we were given specific instructions not to harm him! The Mayor wants him to be named a public hero tomorrow. If you kill him in this room they will send you to the Grimway! Now pull yourself together, you look like a mess.”

  I was in shock. I was expecting this to turn into a two-on-one fight ending with my public execution after a brutal beating or death. Not in my wildest dreams would I have expected Lorre to defend me.

  Wait—public hero!

  No Outcast in history had been named a hero for anything. And the Mayor, whom I had just robbed a few hours before, would be the one to name me as such! I would have laughed if there weren’t two NPFC officers in front of me. Murray glared at me and I smiled right back at him. I was protected and, now that I knew it, couldn’t help but relish in it.

  “Is something wrong…Mary,” I said purposefully miss-saying his name, “cat got your tongue?”

  “Keep it up and I may have to cut out that tongue,” he spat back. By the look in his eye I believed he was capable of doing it.

  I turned toward Lorre, hoping to change my luck before Murray kept his threat and I asked, “Why am I here?”

  Lorre ignored me as he pushed Murray away and growled at him, “Get out now!”

  The two stared at each other for a bit before Murray smoothed his suit with the palm of his hand. He scoffed once and then strode out, but not before saying to me, “Don’t look so chipper now, Griff. I’ll be seeing you again.”

  And then he was gone.

  “Please have a seat Mr. Nightlock,” said Lorre struggling to be polite under orders. It didn’t suit him one bit. I did as he asked and retook my seat as he did the same.

  “Why am I really here?” I asked again.

  Lorre stared at me, studying, and then answered, “This is your second public connection to the international terrorist, Ziavir Yiros. He’s wanted from every corner of the globe. Now he is spotted here by actual living witnesses—the first time in twenty years. Prior to tonight, you were the last victim he left alive. The last to witness his crimes in two decades. That is a connection that raises too many red flags to be considered a coincidence. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  I do understand and the evidence does appear convincing.

  “Then let me explain away your suspicions,” I quickly said, my tone of voice still angry. “That monster took everything from me. If you think I’m in league with him then you are strongly mistaken. He just tried to blow up a train—with me on it!”

  “Then let us put you in protective custody. You have lived through two sightings of him. You’ll will surely be his next target.”

  On paper the offer seemed good enough, but I knew it to be a fraud. If Ziavir wanted to find me then he would, and no one could stop him. He was just too good. At the same time, I couldn’t just leave everything behind, not after the work I’d just started as Shaman. It may have seemed petty that I refused, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I had too much work to get done.

  I shook my head and apologized, saying, “I’m sorry, but no. I’ll likely be killed by your partner before Ziavir ever finds me. I’ll take my chances on my own. I know how to keep out of sight. Now, unless you intend to charge me with a crime, I do believe I’m free to go. So I’m leaving.”

  I stood abruptly, eager to get out of there and finally get home. Lorre didn’t try to stop me. I headed for the door. But just as I opened it he said, “The Mayor wants to see you tomorrow morning by 10:00 a.m. He will send a car to pick you up from your apartment.”

  Great. They know where I live.

  I gave a sarcastic smile. “Super!”

  I stepped out the door and froze as Lorre called out to me saying, “Oh, and Griffon, remember…we will be keeping a close eye on you from now on.”

  Ggggrrrrreeeeeeaaaaatttttt, I moaned in my head as I let the door shut behind me.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I had a small apartment on the fifth floor of an run down building in the Outcast District. It had a balcony overlooking an alleyway that provided me with a quick escape route. My apartment consisted of two rooms: a small bathroom and a larger open area. The main room had a living room set-up with mismatched, second-hand furniture and, instead of a TV, an antique radio and bookcase stuffed full of paperback books and comics. In the far corner of the room, by the balcony, sat my bed and small dresser. They were separated from the rest of the room by a standing screen I had purchased to convince myself there was a private bedroom. My kitchen appliances? I had a cheap wood stove in the corner opposite my bed. My “kitchen” held a small icebox and little rolling cart. My dishwasher? The bathroom sink.

  The cost of utilities was higher in the Outcast District, but this was the only part of the city Outcasts were permitted to live, which meant I had no choice but to pay the high price. So I made do with a wood stove, candles, and lots of blankets on cold nights. The apartment’s old walls desperately needed repair, and I knew mold grew inside them. I tried to compensate by covering the floor with textured rugs and the walls with posters, objects, and even a pair of sabers.

  The bathroom was smaller than most closets. The toilet, shower, and small sink were like a conjoined horrifying water machine because each touched the other. In fact, I had to step over the toilet to get in the shower. It was a tight, dysfunctional mess, but it was my mess and my home.

  My wrist watch read 3:45 a.m. Reality sucker punched me with exhaustion. Odd how knowing the time makes one tired. After what I’d been through that evening, I could have slept for a week. Therefore, I blame my fatigue, not ignorance, for my failure to see signs that someone had broken into my apartment.

  The burglar stood leaning against the frame to the balcony door with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He was a big man, too large to go unnoticed, standing at an impressive six feet and five inches with wide shoulders and massive biceps. He had short sandy blond hair with a clean-shaven face. He wore relaxed fit jeans and a brown leather jacket over his dark blue flannel shirt. He appeared unarmed short of the arms big enough to squish a man’s skull.

  I recognized him, and even though I couldn’t see his left forearm, I knew he had neither the words Outcast nor Noble printed there like everyone else. This man was an Illegal, which meant one of his parents was an Outcast and the other was a Noble, something that wasn’t only forbidden, but was also the one and only offense that could get a Noble publicly executed. It was Emperor Adam Rythe’s first decree as Emperor thirty years ago that all Illegals were to be killed at birth and it was the responsibility of every citizen to immediately kill any Illegals discovered and to report suspicious behavior between Nobles and Outcasts interac
ting with each other. That written law, filled with words like “exterminate” and “heathen” to describe Illegals, made it very clear that Nobles were superior and separate to all Outcasts.

  The Illegal who stood before me held my fedora from my Shaman outfit between his fingers and seemed amused as he repeatedly turned it over in his hands. If any other man held my hat, I would have acted aggressively. Then again, I doubt I could have intimidated him, since he could easily bench press twice my weight with those arms.

  This was Chamberlain Blair, my oldest and closest friend. He was the only good man I knew.

  “I was beginning to wonder when you would return. We all got worried when you didn’t get off on your stop. Then I heard on the police scanner that they had found a bomb, a train full of hostages, and one Outcast being taken into custody. And wouldn’t you figure that it was the exact same monorail that you were on? I told you it was a bad idea to jump onto that train.”

  “I’m glad you rushed right to my rescue then,” I said sarcastically.

  “Well, if you’re crazy enough to get yourself locked up so easily, I’m sure you can get yourself out on your own just fine,” Chamberlain joked. There may have been a hint of truth there, but I knew if I were in any real danger, Chamberlain would have been right there beside me like always. He had saved my life more than once over the years.

  “Brilliant men have always been considered crazy by the rest of society. Take Sherlock Holmes,” I joked back.

  “Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character. And I never considered him crazy enough to jump on top a high speeding train to escape from a heist.”