Chapter 21. Out of the Cage

I managed to exhale only the essentials into the receiver: I briefly told Rachel that I was in custody, dictated the precinct number, and spat out the surname of that pig Alvarez. Every second counted; I could feel time slipping through my fingers.

“What, that’s it? Shop’s closed! Time’s up!” Alvarez practically tore the smartphone out of my hands. His face flushed, his fat neck bulging over his shirt collar. “So, you said goodbye to your girl? Had your little chat? Enjoy that memory, Tom, because next time you hear her voice won’t be anytime soon. Five years, if you’re lucky.”

His threats shattered against my emotional shield like fine spray against granite. I only gave a short nod. The duty officer grabbed my elbow without ceremony and led me back down the corridor. The scrape of a key, the heavy sigh of an iron door, and I was back in the cell.

Nothing had changed inside. The same stale, heavy air soaked with the smell of unwashed bodies. The number of people had not decreased; the same living wall of sweaty backs and sullen faces remained. My solitary corner on the hard wooden bench, which I had fought so hard to claim, had already been taken over by some twitchy-eyed guy. But the moment I took a step toward him, he jumped up as if the bench had suddenly turned white-hot. He hurriedly retreated to the wall, choosing to brace it with his shoulder alongside the other unlucky ones who had not found space. Yesterday’s demonstration of krav maga had left a deep mark in their collective memory. No one wanted to test how quickly I could break a man’s jaw. That worked in my favor; unnecessary conflicts with this biological trash would only distract me from analyzing the situation.

I sat down, leaned the back of my head against the cold wall, and closed my eyes, initiating an internal calculation process.

The situation was shaping up to be bad. Miller, that petty tyrant, had decided to go all in. He had not merely accused me of stealing my own wages; he had attributed to me a sum many times larger. This was no petty theft now, but a state-level criminal offense with serious time attached. As for Alvarez, there were two possibilities. Either he was hopelessly stupid and lazy, or he was a complete bastard on the payroll of people like Miller. He threw nonexistent evidence in my face, bluffed about video recordings, and demonstratively ignored any of my arguments.

Rachel was the key variable. Her brief “okay” over the phone now rang in my ears. What had that been? A cold acknowledgment that she had heard me but was not about to go to bat for a guy she had met a week ago? Or a concise reply from an FBI professional who had already started turning the gears of the system in my favor? She knew how those mechanisms worked. She was my only real chance at a clean resolution. There was also Alex from beach police, but the very thought of him in this hole made me want to smirk. I pictured him walking in here in his uniform shorts and trendy sunglasses; they would laugh him to death before he even managed to pull out his badge.

In any case, I had done everything within my power. Dialogue with Alvarez was closed; he heard nothing but his own opinion. If Rachel did not help, there was one last line of defense: my mother. In the evening, as agreed, she would call Danny. People from the awakened corps would get me out of here in five minutes; of that I had no doubt. Though I would rather not involve them over something so trivial.

Time in the cell did not simply pass; it decayed. No clock, no windows, no connection to the outside world. The only way not to go insane was to listen to the endless chatter around me. It was a live show of degenerates. The main topics were food and drugs. Two dealers in the corner, without the slightest concern for the guards, were seriously discussing a business plan. As soon as they got out, they would buy pure product from some buddy downtown, cut it with flour, and make money. They were discussing a criminal operation right inside a police station, three yards from the bars.

That was everything one needed to know about the intellectual level of the local contingent. Forget films about Ocean’s friends or genius thieves. In reality, prisons were filled with fools, losers, and those who simply could not calculate consequences two steps ahead. And the worst part was that I was sitting in the same row with them. It was a painful snap on the nose, a lesson for the future: never allow emotions or circumstances to drive you into the same cage as idiots.

My thoughts circled endlessly. For the tenth time, someone started arguing about where in Los Angeles the juiciest burgers were made. These arguments were endless and meaningless, like trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon.

Suddenly, something clicked in my head.

[Special command completed. Emotions returning to the Familiar]

I involuntarily flinched. That meant it was now 12:16. The precision was absolute. Exactly twenty-four hours had passed since the command.

The world around me changed instantly. Emotions flooded back into my consciousness like a river breaking through a dam, washing away the icy calm of logic. I felt both good and unbearably bad at the same time.

The taste of that morning vanilla bun we had been handed suddenly surfaced in my memory. Back then, I had simply thrown it into the furnace of my body, noting only the calories. But now… God, it had been damn delicious. A light sweetness, the aroma of vanilla, soft dough. Under the anesthesia of suppressed emotions, I had been deprived of the simplest pleasures of life.

But along with the taste of the bun, reality returned. The suffocating discomfort of this cell pressed down on me. The walls seemed closer, the ceiling lower. Regret over wasted time gave way to burning resentment, fear for the future, and such rage at Miller and Alvarez that my jaws clenched to a grinding ache. I felt like a cornered animal.

Maybe I should switch off emotions again? For another day? Without emotions, life turns into a gray routine, but in moments like this, or in the heat of a fight, it becomes a damn tank that just pushes straight through.

To distract myself from the creeping apathy, I summoned the status panel.

[Control Panel: TRAINER]

Level: 2

S-Power (System Energy): 11/11

Special Command: 2/4

Tactical Mode: 0/1

[Subject Status: MONSTER]

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Level: 1

Race: Human (Homo Sapiens)

Attributes:

Strength: 8 (Level of a well-built athlete, the result of exhausting training)

Endurance: 6 (You no longer run out of breath after climbing stairs)

Agility: 7 (You can already touch your shoulder blade with your fingers, flexibility is increasing)

Current Effects: [Increased Irritability], [Mild Dehydration]

Yes, quite the picture. Because of the miserable night on the bench, the Special Commands had not recovered. S-Power, however, was at maximum. I still had no idea how to use it. The same went for the monster level. A full month of training, tons of sweat, and I was still at level one. How was it supposed to be increased? By killing someone? Or by completing tasks? There were no hints.