Leads and Fading Trust

The dim, warm glow of a small lantern flickered across the basement walls, casting soft shadows that seemed to dance with the shifting light. Kai's basement was more than just a refuge—it was a sanctuary. Thick, insulated walls muffled the noise from the outside world, replacing it with a comforting stillness.

The space was organized in a way that spoke to Kai's personality. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with manuals, novels, and schoolbooks. A couch and two armchairs formed a makeshift sitting area aligned in the center, with an old coffee table covered in few scattered papers.

The far corner held a sturdy desk stacked with notebooks and a half-assembled gadget, evidence of Kai's endless tinkering. Despite the tension in the air, the space felt lived-in and secure—a stark contrast to the chaos they'd just escaped.

Kai stood near the base of the stairs, one hand resting lightly on the railing. She was still wearing her school jacket, though its edges were scuffed from their escape. Her sharp gaze shifted between the others, lingering on each of them as though silently assessing their condition.

Nyota leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His usual calm exterior was fractured, his brow furrowed in frustration. Sage sat in one of the armchairs, his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled as if deep in thought.

Across from him, Kilo perched on the couch, leaning forward with his hands clasped together. His expression was uncharacteristically serious but tinged with a quiet optimism that hadn't dimmed despite everything they'd seen.

Aurora sat in Kai's usual swivel chair, sitting with an arm over the back rest. Her cool composure masked the storm of emotions she rarely let surface, although her silence carried a weight that everyone felt.

The room was quiet until Kai broke it with a sigh, her voice cutting through the stillness. "Did we really accomplish anything out there?"

Kilo leaned back slightly, his lips curving into a small, hopeful smile. "I mean, we completed the mission. That has to count for something... right?"

Nyota shifted, his jaw tightening. "It doesn't feel like it counts for much when so many people were arrested. We provoked them to rally, but then we just—" He stopped, his fists clenching at his sides.

Aurora glanced at him, her voice steady but soft. "We didn't abandon them, Nyota. We did what we set out to do. It doesn't mean we don't care."

"That makes sense to me," Kilo added. "How did the commotion start, anyway?"

Nyota shrugged. "Guessing either a protestor provoked a soldier or vice versa."

Kai nodded, stepping closer to the group. "It doesn't really matter—Aurora's right. If we'd stayed, we'd be in those trucks too." Her voice faltered slightly, but she pressed on. "I hate it, but it's the truth. At least this way, we're still here to help them."

Kilo's tone was gentler this time, his optimism unwavering. "And we will. We're not done yet."

Sage finally spoke, his voice calm but thoughtful. "This isn't the end. It's just one step forward. What matters is what we do next."

Nyota's gaze flicked to Sage, then to the others. The tightness in his posture eased slightly as he exhaled deeply. "You're right. This isn't over. We'll figure something out. Somehow."

Kai nodded, her eyes steady. "We will. But for now, we need to stay sharp and lay low. We can't afford to get caught."

The group fell into a reflective silence that evening, the weight of their situation settling over them. Despite everything, the basement remained a safe haven—a place where they could regroup, think, and plan for what came next.

--

The following evening, the once-bustling streets of New Jericho were eerily quiet, their usual hum replaced by a tense stillness. The air was cold, biting through the dim light of streetlamps. In the heart of the city's police precinct square, the central detainment facility loomed—a stark, unwelcoming structure of steel and concrete. Within its walls, the sound of heavy boots echoed through the halls as Silas and his entourage strode with purpose.

Silas, tall and imposing in his neatly pressed uniform, exuded authority with every step. His sharp eyes scanned the halls as he moved, the faintest smirk curling at the corners of his lips. Behind him followed a handful of RSAA soldiers, their presence a constant reminder of his growing authority.

Malcolm sat in a cold, windowless interrogation room, his wrists cuffed to the table. His usually composed demeanor was fraying, though he kept his head high. He hadn't been given much time to process the events of the protest, let alone prepare for what lay ahead. The door swung open with a metallic creak, and Silas entered, his presence filling the room like a stormcloud.

"Malcolm Soren," Silas announced, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down. He rested his elbows on the table, fingers steepled. "Let's chat."

Malcolm didn't respond, his gaze fixed on a point just past Silas's shoulder.

Silas chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "No need to play the silent hero. This can go one of two ways, and I think you know which one is easier."

Malcolm finally looked at him, his expression unreadable. "I don't have anything to say to you."

The room fell into a tense silence. Silas's smirk disappeared, replaced by a sharp, dangerous edge. He leaned forward, his voice low and deliberate. "You're not just some passerby who got caught up in the chaos, Malcolm. Let's not insult each other's intelligence."

He straightened in his chair, fixing Malcolm with a piercing stare. "You were at the protest. You led it. And not just that—you've been a thorn in the government's side for years. An adamant critic of Director Noriko herself, no less." Silas continued, his voice dripping with mock amusement.

"A lead organizer for protests, a public advocate for healthcare workers, and the face of your precious local healthcare union. A published author of all those fiery opinion pieces tearing apart the government's failure to protect frontline staff. Quite the résumé."

Malcolm's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Silas leaned back, his chair creaking slightly. "You've got some audacity, you know that? Calling her out in the public light, painting her as incompetent. Hell, if you ask me, it's a miracle you're still alive.

From what I've heard, you've been a persistent pain and a recurring inconvenience for her and the District. I'm honestly surprised she hasn't ordered someone to take care of you yet." He tapped a finger against the table, his tone turning cold. "Maybe you're worth more alive than dead. At least, for now."

Malcolm's expression didn't falter, but there was a flicker of tension in his eyes.

Silas leaned forward again, the dangerous edge in his voice returning. "Now, Malcolm. Let's talk about this 'Z' that keeps popping up everywhere. You know something. Don't waste my time pretending otherwise."

Malcolm remained silent, his gaze steady but unyielding. The quiet stretched between them, heavy with tension, as if Malcolm's defiance alone was a challenge. Silas's eyes narrowed, his irritation bubbling to the surface. He drummed his fingers against the table, the rhythm sharp and deliberate, a warning in itself.

Silas's patience began to wear thin. He nodded to one of the soldiers, who stepped forward, a menacing presence at Malcolm's side. "Perhaps you need a little encouragement," Silas said coldly.

Malcolm's resolve wavered slightly. He'd known this was a possibility—being captured, interrogated, and pressured to betray the very people he'd hoped to protect. But his loyalty wasn't so easily shaken.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Malcolm said finally, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

Silas's eyes narrowed, his tone turning sharp. "You were at the protest, Malcolm. A disaster that ended with arrests and chaos. And now, here you are. Don't play coy—you've got connections to that 'Z' symbol, and I'm going to find out what they are."

Malcolm didn't flinch, his jaw tightening at Silas's accusation.

Silas leaned back, watching Malcolm closely, as if calculating his next move. Then, he spoke with a quieter, more cutting edge. "Let's be honest here. I'd wager you're not too fond of them yourself, considering how their little stunt got you tossed in here. Not the brightest move on their part, dragging someone like you into this mess." He let the words hang in the air, testing for a reaction.

Malcolm's gaze flickered, betraying a hint of unease.

Silas smirked faintly, sensing an opening. "See? You're not as loyal to them as you're pretending. I'm not here to twist your arm, Malcolm. I'm here because you're a good lead. Don't make me regret giving you a chance to make this easy."

Malcolm exhaled slowly, knowing Silas had a point. He could refuse to speak, but it would only delay the inevitable—and perhaps make things worse. After a tense pause, he finally said, "They sent me a letter, that's all. I didn't ask for it. I didn't even know what they planned to do."

"A letter," Silas echoed, his interest piqued. "Go on."

Malcolm hesitated, then slowly reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. He withdrew a folded piece of paper, creased and slightly worn from handling. Silas extended his hand impatiently, and Malcolm reluctantly handed it over.

Unfolding the letter, Silas's eyes scanned its contents, his expression darkening with each line. He lingered on the signature, the symbol of Zteel stamped at the bottom.

"Zteel," Silas murmured, his voice laced with intrigue. "Well, isn't this interesting." He glanced up at Malcolm. "They contacted you directly. Offered their 'support,' did they?" He shook his head, a thin smile forming. "They have quite the flair for theatrics, I'll give them that."

Malcolm remained silent, his expression guarded.

Silas folded the letter neatly and slipped it into his coat pocket. "You may not know who they are, but you've just handed me the lead I needed. A rogue organization claiming to share a 'common cause'? That narrows it down." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "I'd say they made a mistake trusting you. If you were smart, you'd distance yourself from them now, before they drag you down with them."

"They didn't tell me who they are," Malcolm said firmly. "I have no idea what they're about. I'm not some pawn for you to manipulate. And I won't help Noriko's agenda."

Silas studied him for a long moment, his expression calculating. "You're not in a position to refuse me, Malcolm," he said finally.

"And yet, I am," Malcolm replied, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering.

The tapping of Silas's fingers against the table broke the silence. His annoyance simmered beneath the surface, but he quickly masked it with a thin smile. "Fine. Have it your way."

Silas stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he turned to the soldiers. "Take him to a cell. Indefinitely."

Malcolm didn't resist as the guards unlocked his cuffs and hauled him to his feet. As they dragged him toward the door, he glanced back at Silas, his expression unreadable.

Silas lingered in the room for a moment, his thoughts churning. Malcolm might have been evasive, but now Silas had a name to the symbol. Zteel. Whoever they were, they'd crossed a line. And rogue organizations didn't last long against the weight of Noriko's empire.