A Captain and a Ronin

It wasn't long before I heard a voice, Scarface again. "Hey Ronin, up. We've got a few questions for you."

"Finally," I sighed, relief and sarcasm mixing in my voice as I quickly made my way to the now-open cell door. Freedom, sort of. I mean, at least I wasn't staring at the same four walls anymore.

I smiled at the hulking dude who was most certainly a strength Devourer. "Cuffs off, please?" I asked, trying to channel my inner diplomat. You know, the one that doesn't get into fights with every Devourer she meets.

He grumbled something that sounded like a 'no' wrapped in sandpaper. "Not until the interrogation room."

Well, that didn't sound ominous at all. Nope. Not one bit. I followed him along the corridors, trying to memorize the route. Just in case, you know, I needed to make a hasty exit later. Always be prepared, that's what Grandfather taught me. Though I'm pretty sure he didn't mean for me to use that advice while in custody.

We arrived at a room that screamed 'generic interrogation chamber.' A simple table, two chairs, and enough lights to make me feel like I was on the surface of the sun. Oh, and let's not forget the small rings at the edges of the table, probably to pass the chains of the handcuffs through. Because comfort is overrated when you're a prisoner, right?

Scarface led me to a seat and sat me down, passing the handcuffs through the ring. See? Called it. He left, closing the door behind him leaving me alone in the blinding white room.

I turned my attention to the giant mirror on the wall to my right. Now, I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even I know that mirrors in interrogation rooms are about as real as a Devourer's table manners.

Ever since I ingested the Cherub, I've been extra sensitive to light, specifically how it reflects off surfaces. This mirror? It was reflecting only about half of what it should have been.

One-way mirror, check. People possibly watching from the other side, double-check.

Now, what would a sensible, mature Devourer do in this situation? Stay calm and composed? Give a sly smile to let them know you're onto their little game?

The answer was... neither.

Instead, I decided to channel my inner five-year-old. I began to make a cranking gesture with my hand next to my cuffed one. Slowly, dramatically, I raised my middle finger.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, feigning shock as I looked down at my raised finger. "I didn't know how this machine worked."

Take that, mirror people.

Just as I was congratulating myself on my stellar maturity, the door opened. A woman walked in, and let me tell you, this lady was committed to a theme. Jean jacket, jean pants, even a jean shirt, basically she really liked jeans.

She had red hair and blue eyes that matched my own, and a small smile played on her lips. But what really caught my attention was what she held in her left hand.

"MY SPEAR!" I cried out, joy bubbling up inside me at the sight of my weapon.

Jean-lady made her way to the table and placed the spear on it as she sat down. "Hello Felice," she said, her voice calm and measured. "I thought we could have a small talk."

I barely heard her, my eyes fixed on my beloved spear. "You guys even cleaned it," I mused. "Maybe you're not that bad after all."

The woman started snapping her fingers in front of my face, like I was a dog she was trying to get to do a trick. Oh, honey. Bad move.

I looked up at her, letting my Devourer intent roll out of me like a tidal wave of 'don't mess with me'. "Don't do that," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "I didn't answer your sentence because I didn't want to, not because I was stupid. Also, don't use my first name. Only my grandpa can use that."

I watched with satisfaction as a bead of sweat rolled down her brow. Then, just as quickly as I'd unleashed it, I pulled my intent back in. No need to terrify the poor woman... too much.

"So, whatcha wanna talk about?" I asked, my tone suddenly light and conversational.

"Y-yeah," she coughed, trying to gather herself. This was supposed to be the captain? She got way too scared from my intent. Maybe it was all a ruse to make me lower my guard. Well, two could play at that game.

"I wanted to ask about this," she said, producing my grandfather's now-opened letter. "You see, we had no clue the Spear Ruler had a family, much less a granddaughter. Of course, this seal proves your identity. It's more believable than you being able to steal the sigil from the Spear Ruler and forge a letter. Still, I have a few questions."

"Okay," I nodded, "but first, I want these cuffs off."

"Of course," she agreed, a little too quickly.

As soon as the cuffs were off, I rubbed my wrists, noting the small marks left by the biting mechanism. They'd probably fade in a couple of hours. I reached for my spear, causing Jean-lady to stand up abruptly. Ignoring her, I got up and went to the wall.

"Perfect," I murmured, swinging my spear experimentally. "They did nothing to you, my sweet."

I returned to my seat, spear now resting comfortably on my lap. "Can we talk now?"

"Shoot," I said, gesturing for her to continue.

"Why did you fight and injure our gatherers?"

I shrugged. "They came at me, telling me I didn't smell human, only like a beast."

"I see," she nodded, glancing up at the mirror. I caught a faint sound coming from her ear, like someone was talking to her.

And that's when it clicked. This woman wasn't the captain. She was just a mouthpiece for whoever was behind that mirror, probably the true captain. Her reaction to my intent suddenly made sense - she was probably a Neophyte, and a weak one at that.

Time for a new plan.

I stood up and walked to the mirror, my reflection staring back at me with a determination I hoped looked more confident than I felt. "Get in here, Captain," I called out. "Talking to someone through a mirror is quite cowardly, don't you think?"

Now, I know what you're thinking. 'Felice, that's not a plan. That's just you being snarky and potentially antagonizing people who already don't like you.' And you'd be right. But hear me out.

Devourers gain two things when advancing in ranks: hunger and pride. Now, given that the truck Devourers were Beastwalkers, even if they were an anomaly, the captain of this place was surely a rank above that - a Monstrum. A rank with enough pride to be guided by it, but not so high that they knew how to quell it.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, cracks began to form on the mirror's surface. I quickly backed away, and in a nanosecond, it shattered completely. Shards of glass rained down, tinkling against the floor like the world's most dangerous wind chime.

I felt the Devourer intent roll off the newcomer in waves. It was intense, nothing compared to what Grandpa unleashed every once in a while so I could get accustomed, but intense nevertheless.

The captain had golden eyes that seemed to glow even in the harsh light of the interrogation room. She was bald - and when I say bald, I mean like, 'you could probably see your reflection on her head' bald. She wore a black vest, black pants, and black shoes. Did I mention she was bald?

Her voice, when she spoke, was rough as gravel. "Jean, you can leave us now. Thank you for your work."

The red-haired girl - Jean, apparently, guess she wore those clothes to match her name- nodded quickly and practically sprinted out of the room, leaving the letter on the table behind us. Can't say I blamed her.

"So, Ronin," the captain said, her golden eyes fixed on me. "You asked, and I'm here."

I should have been intimidated. I should have been formulating my next move, planning how to navigate this potentially dangerous situation. Instead, all I could focus on was the light reflecting on two things, her gleaming dome of a head and the sea of glass shards littering the floor.

"I ain't paying for that," I blurted out, gesturing to the remnants of the mirror.