#alltime

Well, she found Silas Verene. Dead, but found. Mika Sol, studies the corpse, leaning over it. The 16-year-old glances around her as the homicide team works, taking pictures of him, writing down notes. They’re currently in a grassy ditch, downhill from a main road. Her sharp blue eyes dart up when she hears a car rolling in, a black van belonging to her father’s agency, Solaris.

“I feel sorry for him,” one of the doctors sighs beside her, returning Mika’s attention to the immediate surroundings. She glances down, brushing her short, brown, wavy hair out of her eyesight behind her ears. A few strands that are too short fall back down a moment after, but she doesn’t heed it more attention. The corpse is in a truly brutal state. Two gunshot wounds, though with the bullets removed, one on the ancle and the other through his forehead. Although all the wounds are washed and cleaned, there’s no hiding his scraped arms and knees, as if he’d tried to crawl away, or the twelve stab wounds they’ve documented on him. That doesn’t even count the multiple slashes he's sustained across the face and back.

“Did you know him?” Mika asks. The doctor shakes her head, recalling, “I believe I worked with him on one case but that was all. I do remember him as a nervous wreck, eyes scanning my office and all jittery. They shouldn’t have sent a man to the other side.”

“You mean Camasoz territory,” Mika says. When she looked over his history, she had the same thought. According to his file, he was in debt and volunteered to the FBI to go for a hefty sum of money. The task given to him is unknown, since Solaris works independently.

“That’s one beaten up body,” A man remarks behind them. Mika lights up, recognizing the voice as he comes to join them.

“Pa- Sir, you came,” she happily calls out, turning to him. She’d always looked up to her father. It’s rather unusual for him to ever come to a crime scene, though, but she’s happy to see him nevertheless. Mr. Sol smiles back, greeting, “Sunshine, I see you’re hard at work. What do we have here?”

The doctor excuses herself, leaving the father and daughter to talk. Mr. Sol crouches down to the corpse, pulling out some gloves.

“A guy who was recruited to go undercover on the other side. He must have been killed there and then brought here,” Mika sums up, watching her father inspect the bullet wound by the forehead, along with the rest of the face.

“By the looks of it, that was a shot to save him from more suffering. Maybe after they got information out of him,” she adds, trying to better judge what he’s looking at or looking for, “Although they left no bullets, it was definitely a very close ranged shot.”

“Information?” Mr. Sol repeats thoughtfully, opening one of the corpse’s eyes, “I don’t think so. This isn’t what torture looks like, Sunshine. We’d be looking at damaged or missing nails, remains of being shocked or rough skin where he’d be tied down. None of that is here.”

Mika closes her mouth in thought as she glances to Verene’s wrists. There are indeed no signs of being tied down.

“As you know, Sunshine, there’s a certain pain threshold for people. If it’s reached, the body shuts down to save the victim of the agony. Our Verene here definitely was injured past that threshold. You see the broken ribs? That’s what they went for first. Then came the beating, where he seems to have put up a good enough fight at the beginning, but the tables quickly shifted. You see the difference in style between the different wounds? This was more than one person’s doing.”

Mr. Sol pauses for a moment, carefully placing a finger on Verene’s chin.

“We know where Frey is now, though. And he is definitely treading in dangerous water here, Mika,” he suddenly remarks, opening the mouth, “Let’s see what he delivered.”

Mika’s eyes widen. Frey is on… the other side? They’ll kill him. It’s not the first stunt he’s pulled but going there without Mr. Sols agreement? He’s just looking for a scolding at this point. Mika peeks over her fathers shoulder to find him digging around in the mouth gently before pulling out something. It’s round, and familiar.

“A Camasoz chip,” she immediately recognizes. Mr. Sol pulls out his phone and scans it. Mika tries to see what the screen says, but his long blond hair, similar to hers, blocks her view.

“Who is it?“ she asks, curiosity finally winning against professionalism. Her father turns off his phone and drops the chip in a plastic baggie. He gets up, expression more serious now.

“A Fang…”

Miller? It seems familiar, but then again, many families share that last name. Mr. Sol calls over the chief investigator and orders, “Send all the information of the corpse to me directly, please. I’d like to oversee this case personally.”

Mika furrows her brows, more intrigued now. That’s a first.

“Do you know them?” Mika questions, but he just shakes his head while patting hers.

“Don’t concern yourself with it, Sunshine. Verene used to work for us, so I want to wrap this up quickly. How does dinner sound after work tonight?”

Mika brightens a little, agreeing, “Ok, sounds good. But you’ll have to stop distracting me from doing my job then.”

Mr. Sol lightly laughs and says, “Alright, Sunshine, I see how it is. Your paycheck should come through tonight with a little bonus for me distracting you. I’ll pick you up then.”

Mika waves as he gets back in the car, driving off, before her attention returns to the corpse. Her father already did half of her job. She sighs, jotting the notes down anyway. He wasn’t bound down anywhere, which matches the scrapes found that suggest attempts to flee. He must have been in a rough shape at the time already. The shot to his heel seems to have been the first wound inflicted. It’s difficult to gather data if the body was cleaned, but by the looks of it, this happened in an enclosed room. The medical team confirmed earlier that there was no dust or asphalt in his mouth or wounds, which could either mean they’re really thorough or that he wasn’t even in a destroyed city. That makes it a lot harder. The only signs he has point to natural surroundings, but he definitely wasn’t put into this shape there. It seems most likely they took him to their place and mangled him there. There isn’t enough data yet to speculate.

Now, for the motive. Papi made it clear that it wasn’t an act for information. Verene’s wounds don’t match those of torture. The chip comes from Frey, that’s clear, and whoever this ‘Fang’ person is, is probably one of the culprits. Camasoz is very careful not to leak information, so such a blunder doesn’t match a cleaned-up corpse like this at all. Then again, why put the corpse here, right under Solaris’ nose anyway? Maybe a warning? But that’s idiotic, since they can gather more data through a corpse than no corpse at all. What he ate, how he was feeling the last moments, maybe even secrets from the other side. A corpse doesn’t lie after all. Maybe Verene was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Gods can't get drunk on alcohol," Corvus replies. This is the fourth since moving on to shots. They both throw their heads back and down the drinks go. Chris licks his lips, the aftertaste of the different liquors still lingering in his mouth, in his throat. A new feeling for him to remember. Corvus on the other hand, seems unfazed by the taste or potency of his shot, already flagging the waiter over for another order.

"My turn," Corvus says with a slight smile to Chris, before turning to the bartender, "Your best bourbon whiskey for two please."

"I don't think that we should head strait to the glasses already...-", Chris tries to interject but Corvus waves it off.

"Nonsense," he retaliates, "Skylar thinks I'm out shopping, I might aswell spend the money."

They watch the barista pour the two glasses in silence, both brooding with their thoughts.

"I feel fuzzy already," Chris suddenly groans quietly, propping his head on his hands on the bar as the drinks are placed before them. They drink it down, Corvus sober, and Chris slightly red in the face. No wonder. An hour of drinking this stuff nonstop leaves anyone in this state. Drunk is an understatement. Corvus lets the last drop of bourbon roll down the glass into his mouth, and sets it down with such intensity, it makes Chris flinch a little.

"Tell me, Chris," Corvus starts, "What did you mean yesterday?"

The red fades slightly from the demon kings face, but it quickly returns as he attempts to seat himself up, not completely successful.

"I did wonder why you visited me two nights in a row," Chris mutters, words a little slow, "But I meant it."

"What did you mean?" Corvus asks back, "Repeat what you said."

Without turning his head, Chris glances to Corvus, gaze sharpening.

"Don't be stupid. Gods do not forget."

Corvus tightens his expression, as he closes his mouth, repeating the events from the night before, "We were talking about Adonis. And suddenly you said... That you love me."

"I love you."

"Exactly like that."

"Exactly like that?"

"Exactly like that."

Chris looks down at his empty glass, with a serious enough expression to fool anyone who might think he's drunk.

"But you're aroace, and I'm a king. I would never have said that."

Corvus' gaze softens, perhaps in relief, though he's unsure why. It is hard to be the one not reciprocating ones feelings.

"I suppose gods do forget," Corvus sighs, flagging the barista once more.

"I suppose they do."

Chris recalls yesterday. What was it, a fuzzy feeling in his mouth, the tint of alcohol. A margarita? They typically hit those last. That's when he said it. Chris smiles a small smile, a sad one even, opening his mouth to order another drink.

This prison is more like a mashup of prison and psych ward. There is no crying in your room, no slipping out from work, no secrets. Everything you do is monitored and closely documented. It is an experiment at the same time, or at least, that's what I'm starting to believe.

If one can document every single move, every single action and calculate it, is prediction possible? I feel like they're trying to constantly monitor us to try and predict our actions or the way we will develop the longer we stay here. Maybe what will trigger us or what will break us.

I feel analyzed here, challenged. I dont find that bad, since it keeps my thoughts active. I don't wish to lose my will and don't intend on giving up my freedom either. Your prison tries to rob us from it. Never seeing the outside world again is usually enough of a blow to break some over time. We have no idea how the world outside is functioning or what is happening. We are really as secluded as can be.

This place... it's a cunning little trick. A mental trick. I don't believe in it. No prison will break what I have. One day an accident will happen, and it will ruin everything here, and that is satisfying enough to know. Nothing is perfect. You can't perfectly predict my actions. Even in your special green room, you can't.

I'm figuring this place out, don't worry. And it's not like you can up your watch on us even more. I know I will land in solitary for writing and submitting this but who cares.

Thank you and good night.