Lukewarm sunshine greeted him in the morning. He lied a bit in bed, enjoying the soft pillows, before finally sitting up.
Facing the bed was an old wardrobe, built into the wall. It had one spacey part for shirts to hang and two drawers below. Not only did it look good, but also proved to be a lucky find as old clothes were hiding inside. Even with half a century passing, these clothes were better quality than what Ibsen wore. He enjoyed the sudden surprise, even if only a few clothes fit him. After sorting out all too small, he put them in the corner of the room for future purposes. Joyful at the sight of new items, he turned towards the mirror built inside the wardrobe.
– Come on now, Henrik Ibsen! It's your big day! You have to look good, don't you think? What do we have here… a formal white shirt… a brown sweater… what's the weather like today?
Stepping on the bed and opening the window, a chilly wind blew into his face.
– Damn, so that's that. Not good, because these are summer clothes. Now that I think about it, Nestor sent his last letter in the middle of summer. Man, I'll be wearing a dead man's clothes. It's a bit eerie to say the least.
He put on his brown shoes and a blue trouser he found.
– Wearing the cape I wore for a weak might not be the best idea… it reeks of sweat and blood. Man, I don't wanna' scare away any cuties I might meet, but if that's my only chose, then I'll…
Then he saw it. A long-sleeved, yellow shirt that had grey elephants and red triangles follow each other in its pattern. It looked like something you'd find in a junk market. Adding a straw hat to his outfit, his appearance was far from society's norms. Still, he tried his best to look okay. And failed.
When he walked downstairs and the peacefully waiting Kafka saw him, he burst out laughing.
– Oh shut up…
– Sure thing, tiger! Or elephant? Did my comment yesterday trigger something in you?
– Quit it!
– Of course, of course! I'm just happy about your spiritual journey.
– Alright, that's enough! – he pointed at him. – Why are you here?
– Just making sure everything's in order, you survived the night… my usual work.
– Okay, I'm fine with that, just don't make too much noise. Want some breakfast?
– Equilibrium, Ibsen!
– You can't be serious…
– I'm joking, I'm joking! – he chuckled. – I don't have any money on me, so thank you kindly for the offer, but I have to refuse.
– Nah, it's fine – he smiled –, you're a cool lad. It's free for ya'.
– Well, thank you!
– Don't mention it.
He gradually slipped into the kitchen, fell once or twice and opened the fridge.
– Kafka!
– Yes?
– Do you like… water?
– Yes, why?
– That's all we have. – he slipped his head out from the kitchen.
– Ah, heavens… – Kafka stood up and walked to the bodiless head. – I brought myself some food on the way here. Low carb cookies. Not much, but better than nothing. Also way healthier than most sweets on the market.
– Oh… thanks. And sorry.
– Don't mention it. You're what they all "a cool lad" too, Mr. Ibsen.
With a smile on his face, Ibsen munched down on the chocolate cookies. They sat close to the counter. Kafka was writing down notes about the bar's interior.
– You must be pretty smart, Mr. Kafka. You have an interesting job and you eat healthily. That's like… cool and stuff, yo!
– Well, I eat stuff like that to look good in front of my wife. She deserves only the best. – he said without looking up.
– Your wife must be real lucky with you! I bet kids love you too. Do you have any?
He stopped for a moment. Something flashed through his mind, but just like that, he quickly put it aside.
– My wife cannot have children.
– Oh… sorry.
Awkward silence ensued as Ibsen put himself in a difficult situation. He feared annoying Kafka and such, went for the door.
– Where are you going?
– Gotta' check out my old pal at the police station.
– Don't go there. – his voice deepened from a newfound seriousness. – Only harm will come your way.
– No need to be scared, Kafka! – he smiled, raising hand to his chest. – Justice will surely be on my side!
– They… fine, do whatever.
A kind of sadness appeared on Ibsen's face. He quickly left the bar, so Kafka won't see it. Although just an average businessman, Ibsen considered him the first friend he made, as he was the first to not hurt him in any way.
The morning sun gently lit his dusty path, used by kinds he has never seen before. Uneasiness still followed his every step, but even then, he tried to appear confident. Something had to compensate for the size he bore. His body was weaker than most people's, but he had to act like that wasn't the case.
Animals usually try to appear bigger than they are upon being threatened. A cat raises her back and hisses. A bear stands on two legs. Birds stretch their wings and scream. In the face of danger, its best to avoid conflict by simply intimidating your opponent via looking stronger than you actually are.
After a long walk, he finally reached a wide street occupied by people using all methods of transportation, some of which Ibsen has never seen before. Small seats with two tires on both end and a wheel on the front, the technology on the main roads was unlike anything he's seen before.
– Have you heard who they transferred from the hospital?
– Yes, it's that weird rich kid!
Ibsen overheard as two men talk. They were protected by a black, full-body armor that was colored blue and yellow at the chest area.
– Did you hear that his parents… you know…
– What?
– They are…
Whatever they were talking about was too quiet for Ibsen to hear, but when the two men walked inside one of the big buildings, he quickly ran after them. He entered a hall with many more people, fully armored, waltzing up and down the corridors.
– Greetings! – a doorwoman greeted him, sitting on his right behind a counter. – How may I help you?
– Oh, me? Hehe… I just… heh… I…
He clenched his fists and decided to be brave, to not falter in the face of evil. That's right. He was much more, than just a small dwarf-human boy! He was much more than that! He was brave, brave enough to raise his hand on his chest and with a sparkly smile, look the doorwoman in the eye and say:
– I was beaten and humiliated!
– That's really bad! Should I…
– By one of your guys!
– Oh… you mean like… someone from here?
– Yep! Really bad!
– Why though?
– Because I didn't follow orders! But don't worry, I bet him up worse!
– Oh… okay… Would you mind if I just…
Not a minute has passed and Ibsen found himself in a dark room with only a lit up lamp hanging above his head. A tall man entered the room, giving Ibsen an upset look before locking the door.
A table was in the middle of the room. Ibsen sat on one end, while the man sat in front of him. He was mostly bald, but as if all his hair sank down, he had a mustache line so long it connected behind his ears.
– May we begin this interrogation?
– I'm gonna'… beat yall to a pump! – he muttered, lying on the table.
– We're deeply sorry for the use of "sedatives", but my colleagues believed you were a highly dangerous person possessing something also highly dangerous, so when you tried to resist arrest, they might've gotten a bit too scared. – his eyes pointed towards his yellow shirt. – That also didn't help them think you're not a lunatic.
– I'm gonna'… kill ya'! – he drooled.
– But I know better than them, I know EXACTLY who you are! – somewhat raising from his seat, he quickly sat back down. – You're the ace up my sleeve, my lucky valentine! Do you know who you are, Henrik Ibsen?
– I'll f… I'll grab your mom and… make love to her!
– You – he stood up, leaning onto the table. – are the man who's gonna' put those bastards behind bars! That's right!
He grabbed Ibsen's shirt and raised him up easily. Drool was running down his cheeks and he could barely hold his head facing the strong man.
– You're the sign I was waiting for! My little angel! My prettiest little man! We're gonna' take them down, one by one, rich by rich!
– Th… Eunostus too?
– That's right! – he screamed, spitting everywhere and shaking the boy. – You're the living, undeniable evidence that the Anthedon family's child is doing illegal acts upon the streets! I'll make a star out of you, my boy! You'll be the hero of this city before no tomorrow!
– Heh… hehe… heheheh…
– THAT'S RIGHT! Laugh my boy, LAUGH! Whaha, whahaha, whahahaha!
– Heheh, heheh, hoo!
– Hahah, hah, hah. Okay that's enough. Now – he threw him back onto the chair and sat down –, I need you to tell me what happened, minute by minute. This is a standard interrogation process, so if you want to ask for a lawyer, I'll bash your kneecaps.
– Fair enough.
– Alright then. Henrik Ibsen, state your date of birth!
– It's… June fourteenth.
– Year?
– Eighteen hundred twelve. Fourth cycle.
– Nineteen I see… man, don't say that.
– Don't say… what?
– The cycle. We're no magical scum to use any of that. Full-blooded humans are what we are!
– But…
– This world has one problem, my boy. It's not ruled by men, but by monsters. Even the human looking rulers are crossbreed degenerates. This city needs a purge. Am I right or am I right? – he raised an eyebrow.
Even under the effect of drugs, he knew when to shut up. Ibsen gently nodded.
– Great, now that we have that, the next one is…
His question was cut short by someone unlocking the door. A blonde girl came in, panicking.
– What's going on out there? Did someone attack? Are you alright?
– No sir and thank you, sir! It's worse!
– Worse? How?
What the girl said next upset the captain so much, he slammed on the desk. He was screaming with the girl, ordering her to bring everyone down to the hall and act as a barricade.
Ibsen had it way worse. The peaceful state he was swimming in quickly vanished and only great mix of emotions remained with nausea on top. His body entered panic mode and his brain was trying it's best to quickly think of an escape route.
– The Anthedon family, captain! They're here to see the defendant!