INTERROGATIONS.
That word should not be above a door they are taking you to after you tried to do something good.
Normally one would expect that if you help save people in a jewelry store, at least they would give you a bottle of water, a pat on the back, or maybe a fast food coupon if the agency is poor.
But no.
They were taking me to an interrogation room as if I were Corvus Night’s cousin.
Vanessa walked beside me but her expression was too serious. That seriousness did not please me. It was the kind of seriousness that tells you not to make jokes because you could end up making your situation worse.
The hallway was white. Too white. So clean that it made me feel dirtier than normal. There were cameras in every corner, sensors on the doors, and dark glass behind which there were surely people watching us like animals on display.
The detective with the sad gaze walked in front.
She was not very tall, but she had a strange presence. She was not intimidating like an angry policewoman, nor loud like someone trying to show authority. She was more silent.
That was worse.
Silent people think too much.
She wore a gray trench coat that moved softly with every step, a fitted white shirt, and a badge hanging from her neck. Her figure was quite striking, especially because of her generous breasts that she tried to hide with the trench coat, although honestly the trench coat was losing that battle.
The strange thing was that her face seemed shy.
Her eyes had a calm sadness, as if she was always about to apologize for doing her job, but at the same time her movements were too smooth, too controlled, almost sensual without it seeming intentional.
Or maybe it was intentional. I cannot know.
The detective opened a door and pointed inside.
“Oliver, enter.”
I stayed still. Vanessa also stopped and looked at me.
“Oliver?” I asked with an awkward smile. “What a coincidence, that is exactly my name.”
The detective tilted her head slightly and her sad eyes fixed on me.
“Oliver Clarke.”
Ah.
My smile faded.
Shit.
They already knew my full name.
That meant they had checked the cameras, compared my face, pulled biometric data, and surely already knew even how many times I had bought cheap food at discount stores.
I do not know why I was surprised. It was a superhero agency.
Vanessa looked at me with a strange expression. She did not seem surprised that they knew my name, but she did seem worried about how I would react.
“Enter, please” the detective said.
The please sounded polite, but it did not seem like a suggestion.
Before I entered, another agent pointed to a different door.
“Vanessa, you are this way.”
She looked at me one last time before entering the room next door.
I entered.
The room was small, cold, and had a metal table in the center. There were two chairs, a camera in one corner, and a black glass occupying almost an entire wall.
The place smelled of coffee, disinfectant, and a lot of legal problems.
Before I could sit down, an agent who was inside the room approached and put special handcuffs on my wrists.
“Is this necessary?” I asked looking at the handcuffs.
They were black, thick, and had small blue lights blinking.
“Protocol for superhumans” the agent replied without emotion.
I sat in the chair and the agent left the room. The detective stood for a few seconds in front of me, then sat on the other side of the table crossing one leg over the other.
The movement was too elegant.
It was not exaggerated or vulgar, but it had that kind of slowness that forces you to look even if you do not want to.
I looked at the table. The table was very interesting. It had big scratches.
Big scratches.
Maybe from another superhuman who was also not having a good day.
The detective placed a folder on the table and rested her fingers on top.
“My name is Evelyn Cross” she said with a soft voice. “I am a liaison detective within the New Kroy Superhero Agency.”
“Nice to meet you” I said trying to sound normal. “Although I would have preferred to meet you without handcuffs.”
She lowered her gaze to my wrists and for a second she seemed uncomfortable.
“I am sorry.”
That threw me off. I did not expect a detective in an interrogation room to apologize.
Then she raised her eyes and her sad gaze became firm again.
“But it is necessary.”
“I do not know if that improves the apology.”
“Probably not.”
There was a strange silence.
She opened the folder and began reading some pages. While she did, she tucked a dark strand of hair behind her ear.
The gesture was small, shy, almost nervous, but her fingers moved with a delicacy that made me think this woman could interrogate someone and accidentally flirt at the same time.
“Oliver Clarke, 21 years old” she said. “Employed until yesterday at Animal Stars, a children’s entertainment company. No power registration, no provisional license, no affiliation to any agency, no relevant criminal record.”
“That last part sounds good.”
“You also resigned from your job last night.”
I stayed completely still.
“You know that too?”
“There are records.”
“That sounds illegal.”
“It depends on how they are requested.”
Evelyn turned another page.
“Today you were seen using fire inside a jewelry store during an incident with Corvus Night. The main camera, two civilian cell phones, and the public surveillance system captured your abilities.”
“In my defense, she was a villainess.”
“That is not in doubt.”
“Then we are good.”
“We are not good, Oliver.”
I stayed quiet.
Evelyn looked at me with that sadness of hers. It was an annoying look because it did not seem cold. It seemed worried.
That made it harder to lie to her.
“Why do you not appear registered as a superhuman?”
Here was the question.
The big question.
The question that could turn my weird day into a catastrophe.
I could not tell her that a system called Fireman activated while I was taking a bubble bath.
I could not tell her that my powers had appeared out of nowhere less than twenty-four hours ago. I could not tell her that I did not even understand what was happening to me.
So I did what any responsible adult would do in a high-pressure situation.
I lied with a serious face.
“Because I did not know if my powers were stable.”
Evelyn did not answer immediately. She just looked at me.
Shit.
People who stay silent after a lie are the worst kind of people.
“How long have you had them?” she asked.
“For a short time.”
“How short is short?”
“It depends on the legal definition of short.”
“Oliver Clarke.”
Her voice did not rise, but my stomach tightened.
The detective leaned forward a little and the white shirt adjusted more to her body.
I tried to keep my eyes on hers, because it was an interrogation and because I wanted to seem like an innocent person.
But her eyes were sad, soft, and too attentive.
As if she was more interested in understanding me than in arresting me.
“I need the truth” she said.
“I also need many things and I almost never get them.”
Evelyn sighed, but she did not seem annoyed. She seemed to be trying not to smile.
That gave me hope. Very bad hope.
Through the dark glass nothing could be seen, but on the side there was a small screen showing another interrogation room.
Vanessa was there sitting, without handcuffs, of course.
She was free, comfortable, with her arms crossed answering questions to another agent.
I looked at my handcuffs, then at Vanessa on the screen, then back at my handcuffs.
“She is not handcuffed” I said.
“She is an agent.”
At that moment I felt heat in my hands.
A small current rising through my fingers, as if my powers were reacting to the stress.
I looked at the black handcuffs and for a second I thought about burning them.
Just a little.
Maybe I could melt the lock, stand up, say it was all a misunderstanding, and walk out with dignity.
Then I remembered I was inside a superhero agency, in a room full of cameras, possibly surrounded by people capable of breaking walls with their foreheads.
Burning the handcuffs would be the stupidest thing I had done during the day.
After offering myself as bait against Corvus Night.
I took a deep breath and turned off the heat.
Not literally because I did not know how it worked, but I stopped thinking about fire and that seemed to help.
Evelyn lowered her gaze to my hands.
“Your pulse went up.”
“You measure that too?”
“The handcuffs do.”
“What gossipy handcuffs.”
This time she did smile a little. It was very small, but I saw it.
The smile completely changed her face. The sad gaze was still there, but for a second she seemed less tired.
Then she settled in the chair and became serious again.
“Oliver, no one here wants to treat you like a criminal.”
“You put handcuffs on me.”
“Because we do not know how dangerous you are.”
“I do not know either.”
The sentence came out before I could stop it. Evelyn stayed silent.
I had said too much.
She closed the folder calmly. “That is an honest answer.”
I stayed quiet.
“Vanessa reported that you acted to protect civilians, that you obeyed instructions in part, and that you avoided using fire near people when you could.”
“In part sounds offensive.”
“She also said you are impulsive.”
“Impulsive?”
That was the concept that had stuck with the neighbor who kept hitting things instead of saving people.
Evelyn rested her elbows on the table and clasped her hands. Her posture was professional, but her fingers moved slightly as if she was nervous.
Then she crossed her leg again, and the movement was once again too smooth for such a cold room.
She was shy, I am almost sure, but her body did not seem to have received the message.
“Do you know what happens to unregistered superhumans?” she asked.
“Fines?”
“Mandatory training, monitoring, temporary restrictions and, in serious cases, preventive detention.”
“I do not like that last one.”
“No one likes it.”
“Then do not do it.”
“That is why we are talking.”
Evelyn stood up from the chair and walked slowly toward the dark glass. Her heels sounded soft against the floor.
She stayed with her back to me for a few seconds, looking at her own reflection.
“The city is changing” she said. “Every month there are more incidents with minor villains, uncontrolled superhumans, and agencies competing for reputation. New Kroy is not the strongest agency, nor the richest, nor the most famous.”
“I noticed that.”
She turned her face slightly toward me.
“But we are one of the few that accepts rookies before someone else turns them into weapons or corpses.”
Weapons for the villains and corpses against villains with a much higher rank than theirs.
Evelyn returned to the table and leaned to pick up the folder. Her perfume was soft, almost imperceptible, but for some reason I noticed it when she passed near me.
I should not be noticing perfumes in a situation like this.
I still felt hungry and maybe needed therapy.
She sat down again, this time a little closer to the table.
“Vanessa trusts you more than she admits.”
“Did she say that?”
“Not with words” she sighed “I am a detective.”
“Good point.”
Evelyn opened a final page and slid it toward me. I could not grab it because of the handcuffs, so I just looked at it.
It was a form. There was an agency logo at the top. Provisional evaluation request for unregistered superhumans.
My heart started beating harder.
“What is this?”
“An option.”
“An option between what and what?”
“Between entering the system as a supervised candidate or continuing to be investigated as an unregistered superhuman who used powers during a public incident in an attack.”
“When you say it like that it sounds like there is only one option.”
“There are two. One is smarter.”
I stayed looking at the form.
Money, training, license, and maybe free food.
But also surveillance, rules, bosses, responsibilities, and the possibility of accidentally telling someone about the system.
Evelyn watched me in silence. That interest bothered me more than the handcuffs.
“Why are you offering me this?” I asked. “Yesterday I was a guy in a bear costume. Today I almost burned a jewelry store trying to catch a crow villainess.”
“Because your power is useful” she said. “Because you did not run away. Because you worried about harming civilians. And because Vanessa would have refused to let you leave here without an answer.”
I looked at the screen,Vanessa was still in the other room, arguing with the agent. I could not hear what she was saying, but from her gestures it seemed she was defending something.
Maybe me.
That made me feel strange.
Evelyn lowered her voice.
“And because I think you are not a bad person, Oliver Clarke.”
I do not know why that weighed on me more than all the previous questions.
The detective with the sad gaze extended a pen to me.
Her fingers barely brushed mine when she left it near my cuffed hand, it was a minimal contact, but she withdrew her hand too quickly, as if she had realized it before I did.
Then she lowered her gaze.
But when she looked at me again, her eyes had a firm decision.
“So…” she said with a soft voice. “Do you want to join our agency?”