Carson quickly switched to defense mode, his eyes darting as he began backpedaling both physically and verbally. He launched into a monologue about his own life, his voice tinged with a tone that was somewhere between desperation and calculation. It was like watching a rat in a maze, albeit one with walls closing in. The guy was good, Reid had to give him that—navigating verbal and physical space as if he were avoiding landmines.
Reid let him rattle on and scuttle backwards, pacing the moment like a predator gauging its prey. He could have easily engaged his Ability to assess Carson's emotional state, but why would he need to do so when he was in many sense, trained in studying human behavior.
Deciding he had let the farce run its course, Reid lunged, driving his foot into Carson's gut with an abrupt, jarring force. Imagine a piston slamming into place, the sudden change in air pressure resonating with the Newton's second law - Force equals mass times acceleration. Carson doubled over, gasping for air, his 'Corrosion' Ability temporarily forgotten in the face of good old biomechanics.
"I'll talk! I'll talk," Carson wheezed, each word perforated by the need for oxygen. "Just give me a chance, okay?"
Reid hummed and raised his eyebrows, inviting the man to start talking.
Carson cleared his throat before launching into a tale. "I met Michelle years ago. She got knocked over by some careless dude. I helped her up. She was crying, so I brought her to a café."
Reid couldn't help but snort at this juncture, the irony too rich to ignore.
Carson, looking cornered, continued. "Something about Michelle was different. She was, I dunno, like an open book. We became friends, the kind who'd spill their darkest secrets over midnight coffee. She confided in me when things got dicey for her, okay?"
Reid scrutinized Carson's face as he probed the emotional undertones beneath the words. Carson was staring right at Reid and his eyes were truthful. Reid didn't expect the man to be good in mental defenses, let alone normal psychology.
Carson was telling the truth.
It wasn't so much about whether he believed Carson's tale of unexpected friendship with Michelle; it was about mystery behind her death. What had caused her death?
A brash, gravelly voice punctured the tension-laden atmosphere from behind Carson. "You might want to see these."
Before Carson could swivel his head, a flurry of photographs cascaded down like confetti from a malignant parade. The glossy rectangles hit the concrete with the precise randomness of chaos theory—every photo landing at a position completely unpredictable yet part of a larger pattern.
The pupils in Carson's eyes dilated almost instantaneously, an autonomic response linked to adrenaline release. Butut before he could grab those incriminating snapshots, Archer's foot came crashing down on his hand with the calculated brutality of a hydraulic press.
In that moment, several things happened at once: First, the osteocytes in Carson's bones registered an unnatural amount of stress, way beyond their yield point. Second, the stress wave transferred through the matrix of his bone at about 3,000 meters per second, triggering microcracks that cascaded into a fracture within milliseconds. And finally, third, the nerve endings in Carson's skin and muscle—particularly the nociceptors, specialized in sensing damage—sent a telegram of pure agony racing up his arm, through his dorsal root ganglia, and into his brain's pain center.
He screamed. A visceral, guttural, neuron-to-vocal-cord scream that would have awakened every canine within a three-block radius. Except, of course, nobody was around to hear it. Even if there was, Archer had activated his artificer right before he spoke. The scream reverberated off the graffiti-strewn walls, lost to the maze of twisted alleyways and darkened corners. It was as if the sound waves got swallowed up in the air, absorbed by the carbon dioxide, nitrogen, and other trace elements until they became mere fluctuations in atmospheric pressure.
Archer looked impassively at Carson, whose face was contorted in a grotesque mask of agony and disbelief. His breathing was labored, coming out in ragged gasps, each inhalation and exhalation a desperate attempt to regulate his oxygen levels and perhaps blunt the tidal wave of pain by stimulating endorphin release.
Archer leaned in close, so close that Carson could feel his cold breath mingling with the moist air being forcefully expelled from his own lungs. "Screaming isn't going to change anything," Archer said, his voice as icy as the frost that seemed to emanate from his very pores. "But talking might."
Carson's teary eyes met Archer's. In that frozen moment, countless calculations raced through both Carson's minds.
"I'll - I'll talk!"
Archer raised his eyebrows and lightening the boot that was on Carson's chest. Reid, on the other hand, had squatted down and was sieving through the photographs. His face darkened by another shade.
Reid's voice was cold when he asked, "what is this?" Reid's fingers ghosting over the photographs in obvious disgust.
Carson's lips parted, shaky breaths escaping them as if his lungs were deflating bags of anxiety. "Look, man, when I met Michelle, I was down in the dumps, okay? My life was a dumpster fire—layoffs, bad relationships, you name it. I was running low on serotonin, the whole 'happy hormone' bit, right? So, naturally, my brain was like, 'Hey, let's just be miserable all the damn time.'"
"Get to the point," Archer snapped, but his boot dug in just a micron deeper into Carson's sternum.
Carson grimaced, shifting slightly under the booth, then went on. "Fine, fine. I met Michelle when I was at rock bottom. She was simple, man. Simpler than me, even. No Ability, just a human navigating through life. That alone was like stumbling upon a frickin' unicorn in this world of Abilities and artifices."
Reid's face had gone stormy, dark clouds forming over his eyes. His brows knitted together and Archer shot Reid a concerned look.
"Nuh-uh, keep talking," Archer intoned, pressing his boot ever-so-slightly, creating more micro-tears in the connective tissue of Carson's sternum.
"Jesus, alright! So, Michelle starts confiding in me, right? Turns out her life's got more potholes than a Solaris City's street after winter. Made me feel a bit better about my own crap. It's kinda messed up, but I was like, 'Hey, at least I'm not the only one.' It's schadenfreude… ha! I felt less alone, man."
Reid's face was now so dark it could've absorbed all the wavelengths of visible light. The guy looked like he was one more revelation away from going nuclear. But Archer's boot wouldn't let Carson's larynx halt its grim confessional.
"Then Michelle went ahead and got herself a boyfriend. Dude, the man's handsome and she started going uphill and man… I was jealous."
"Then, Michelle told me her then-boyfriend was a sleazebag. Was harassing her, making her life miserable. She had these photos that he was threatening to leak." Carson grinned wide, "So, me being the 'good friend'," Carson paused, seeing Reid scoff, "I offered to take care of it. But when I saw them, something clicked. I couldn't just destroy 'em."
Carson's words were now caught in the thick, viscous tension of the air. It was like trying to talk underwater, each syllable weighed down by Reid's towering, almost gravitational anger and Archer's undivided, icy focus.
"So, you kept them?" Archer questioned, his voice icy cold, each word a frozen shard piercing through the night air.
Carson swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as if it were floating on a sea of regret. "Yeah, I kept them. Call it leverage, call it insurance, call it whatever the hell you want. I kept 'em."
Reid clenched his fists so hard, his knuckles turned as white as if he'd drained all the blood away. If looks could kill, Carson figured he would have disintegrated into ashes by now, nothing left of him but a carbon footprint.
Reid's eyes narrowed into icy slits as he absorbed Carson's twisted narrative. His face had taken on an expression so grim, it seemed like he had just swallowed a gallon of pure darkness, metaphorically speaking. "So, you kept those photos as a perverse comfort blanket, huh? A way to tell yourself that Michelle was always slogging through worse mud than you?"
Carson, his face flushing with an odd mix of glee and mania, nodded exuberantly. "Exactly, man! And when I heard she'd offed herself? Oh man, I was beyond ecstatic. See, that proved it, right? Her life was so utterly screwed that she actually hit the eject button on it. Compared to that, my problems felt like a romcom."
If Reid's look could be equated to any natural disaster, it would be a volcano on the brink of a cataclysmic eruption. The magma of his anger was bubbling so furiously it was ready to burst forth and lay waste to everything in its path.
Pulling a folded piece of paper out of his pocket with a movement that suggested it was a grenade, Reid flicked it open and threw it at Carson. The paper fluttered through the air, landing near Carson's feet. It was a page from Michelle's book.
Archer stomped his feet down further, hearing a loud crack before he held onto Reid's arm. The other man nodded, moving his fingers away from Carson's face. The duo left, not turning behind.
Carson took one look at the folded paper, he read it and the grimace on his face turned into a grin. His teeth shone brightly and his eyes sparkled.
"Ha! Hahaha!" He spat - the sounds of the crazed man echoed through the dark alley.
The page was an excerpt, dedicated to Rat:
In this dark world, the jellyfish met the rat. While the rat was exuberant, a sun-worshipper, it always preferred to stash its goodies in dark corners. The jellyfish, however, got swept up in a tornado while hoping to ride the currents to a better life. What did the rat do? It amplified the whirlpool, made it faster, more volatile. When the jellyfish extended a tentacle to grasp onto a piece of coral, the rat severed it. The rat actually clapped, applauding the jellyfish's 'performance'.
***
Archer studied Reid's face, which had settled into a stormy, unfathomable expression that hovered somewhere between fury and disappointment. Archer knew Reid too well; he recognized the inner workings of his friend's complex emotions as they churned like a turbulent sea. The guy was an emotional sponge, absorbing the weight of the world and every atrocity that came with it.
"If I hadn't jumped in, you would've gone all Inception on that scumbag, wouldn't you? Tried to poke around in his cesspool of memories?" Archer said, the words tinged with a mix of concern and irritation.
Reid turned his eyes on Archer, dark orbs that contained a galaxy of complicated thoughts. "Nah, I wouldn't have. Dude's an open book, and the title of that book is 'How to Be a Grade-A Asshole.'" Reid's voice was rife with loathing. "I don't need to wade through his psyche to know what he has done."
While Archer could appreciate the moral restraint, he also sensed an undertone of regret in Reid's voice. Reid had a penchant for fixing the unfixable, for pulling frayed ends together even if they didn't want to meet. And here was a thread that not only resisted being pulled but was knotted up in its own self-made tangle.
"Look on the bright side," Reid continued, shaking off the miasma of his previous thoughts, "Now we've got another piece on the board. Another scumbag to chase down that isn't one of the two women from that report."
Without another word, Reid whipped out his phone and shot off a quick message to their contact in law enforcement, succinctly requesting a background check on Michelle's ex-boyfriend. Archer wondered how many more vermin they would uncover as they dug deeper into this quagmire. Hopefully no more.
"Let's get out of here. I need a change of scenery," Archer said, sensing that Reid was a lit fuse away from an emotional explosion.
So off they went, meandering through the city until they stumbled upon a book cafe. It was an oasis of calm, a place where the aromas of fresh tea and old paper mingled in a soothing embrace.
As they settled into plush armchairs surrounded by shelves lined with hundreds of books, Archer ordered two cups of chamomile tea. The waiter served them in artisanal cups, steam curling off the liquid like little wraiths escaping into the air.
"Here," Archer handed Reid a cup, "It's chamomile." The unspoken message: a palliative for the soul.
Reid chuckled mirthlessly, "I'd prefer coffee although I know you wouldn't let me have it. Well, if tea could fix what's broken inside, I'd be mainlining this stuff."
They both took sips, the warm liquid serving as a minor balm to their frayed nerves. Reid's eyes wandered over the spines of the books surrounding them, each title another universe, another escape.
"You know what's messed up?" Reid finally broke the silence. "The worst monsters are often the most ordinary people. You walk past them every day, and you wouldn't know they were capable of causing so much pain."
Archer looked at his friend, seeing the heavy burden of disappointment and sorrow Reid carried with him. "Man, you've got to stop internalizing other people's demons. You've got enough of your own."
Reid chuckled, a sad sound that was devoid of any real humor. "Easier said than done, Arch. When you can get inside people's heads, it's hard not to let them inside yours."
It was a haunting thought, one that made Archer realize how much he didn't envy Reid's Ability. To be a receptacle for the worst that humanity had to offer would take its toll on anyone, and Reid was no exception.
A sudden buzz from Reid's phone shattered the brief, fragile peace they'd found in the sanctuary of the book café. As Reid scanned the message from their inside guy in law enforcement, his brows knitted together in a deep frown, like he'd just swallowed a gulp of sour milk.
"It's Edward Tay," he muttered, tilting the phone so Archer could read the text. "Michelle's ex-boss. This just got a whole lot messier."
Archer grimaced, his own face a study in mounting frustration. "Ex-boss, huh? Makes you wonder what other kinds of baggage this whole twisted affair has."
Before either could delve further into the psychological cesspool they were already half-submerged in, the café's PA system flickered to life, temporarily hijacking their attention. The sound quality was remarkably good, each word piercing the ambient noise of subdued conversations and the scratch of pen on paper.
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" the voice boomed, far too enthusiastic for the intimate setting. "We have a special treat for all you bibliophiles out there. Join us for an exclusive book signing event with none other than the amazing"—here the announcer paused for dramatic effect—"Penelope Quirke!"
Archer and Reid exchanged glances that communicated a world of thought in a mere second. It was the kind of shorthand that comes from years of friendship and mutual understanding. This café was, after all, cozy enough that any event happening within its four walls instantly became a communal experience. And besides, they were both innately curious people; it came with the territory of their unorthodox line of work.
Furthermore, Penelope was one of the women on the list.
"Guess we're sticking around for this," Archer shrugged, his eyes twinkling with a combination of amusement and inquisitiveness.
Reid had groaned. He had wanted a slow evening after such an adventure-filled afternoon.
"Just my luck."
Archer chuckled softly, "Who knows? Maybe Penelope Quirke will offer us a plot twist that'll make our current drama seem like a kids' book."
Reid chuckled, a genuine laugh this time, as he took another sip of his chamomile tea. "Man, if life were as straightforward as a book, I'd flip to the last page, find out who the real villain is, and call it a day."
As they waited for the event to start, Reid had took out his phone and started browsing through the information that the law enforcer acquaintance had sent him. On the other hand, Archer started looking around blankly, admiring his tea.
Little did they know, many of the patrons in the cafe were staring at them.
Meanwhile, Reid's mind was whirling like a hamster on a wheel. Edward Tay. The man had power, influence, and now a link to a tragic event that seemed more suspect with each revelation. Reid thought about how often authority figures abused their power, how the human psyche could warp when doused in a toxic cocktail of control and opportunity.
His train of thought was cut short when Penelope Quirke made her entrance. She was a vivacious woman in her late forties, radiating the kind of exuberance you'd expect from someone who made a living crafting narratives. As she took her seat behind a table stacked with copies of her latest book, the contrast between the fictional world she represented and the harsh realities they were facing struck Reid like a gut punch.
Archer, ever the one to find irony in any situation, leaned in and whispered, "Life's a story and we're stuck penning the true-crime version."
Reid smirked, grateful for the levity. "Yeah, and we're not even close to figuring out the ending."
As Penelope Quirke began to speak, launching into an animated discussion about her book's protagonist—a woman who overcame great odds to find her own voice—both men found themselves envious of her characters. Characters whose fates were determined by the stroke of a pen, whose struggles were bound by the confines of a book cover.
But Archer and Reid weren't really listening. All they saw was a woman who was currently basking in the adoration of her fans. They noticed the air that the woman carried that screamed authority and money. Then, Reid frowned a little before taking his phone out.
Reid hummed and thrusted his phone towards Archer who raised his eyebrows.
Interesting - the look at Archer tossed to Reid. Reid nodded silently.
Both Archer and Reid could feel it in the air—something more than just the mingling scents of fresh ink, paper, and artisanal coffee that filled the cozy confines of the book café. It was like static, a palpable current that surged when they realized that Penelope Quirke, the author currently basking in the adoration of her fans, had some mysterious tie to Michelle.
"Wanna bet this isn't a coincidence?" Reid muttered, his eyes darting from Penelope to the increasingly restless crowd gathering in anticipation of the book signing.
"Dude, the odds of this being a 'just-because' are about as good as me deciding to become a vegan," Archer quipped. "It's not gonna happen."
As the line began to form, Archer strategically took his place at the tail end. This was a choice move; he wanted maximum observation time. He felt the prickle of eyes on him as he waited, but he ignored it. For a man used to operating in the boardrooms, a few curious glances from bookworms were nothing.
When it was finally Archer's turn, Penelope glanced up, momentarily stunned. He was an undeniably striking figure, but her professional veneer quickly snapped back into place. She unleashed a practiced smile at him as she reached for a book to sign.
"So, are you enjoying the event?" she began, her tone dripping with that overly sweet customer-service-like courtesy.
Archer, however, was in no mood for small talk. Instead of answering, he gave her a glance that could freeze boiling water. Stone-cold silence was his response, a tactic he often employed to unnerve people and make them reveal more than they intended.
At this juncture, Reid emerged from the crowd and plopped down a copy of Michelle's latest book right on Penelope's signing table. Penelope's eyes widened like saucers, and she looked like she'd just been slapped by a ghost. That change, that microsecond of unscripted reaction, was exactly what both men were hoping for.
A grin materialized in the depths of both Reid and Archer's minds. They didn't need to look at each other; they'd spent so much time together, cracking cases and reading people, that they could practically hear each other's thoughts.
"Gotcha," Reid thought, almost hearing Archer echo the sentiment inside his own head.
The atmosphere in the room had just shifted, morphing from a casual public event to an unscheduled interrogation. Both men felt it—the sweet, victorious sensation of catching someone off guard, of drawing them out of their carefully constructed persona and forcing them to show their true face, however briefly.
Archer could feel a shiver run down his spine; it was like when you nail the last move in a high-stakes poker game. He felt alive, blood pulsing in his veins, his senses on high alert. And for Reid, that fleeting second where Penelope's mask dropped was like a rush of adrenaline, a kick that drove home the gravity of their investigation. They were getting closer to the answers they so desperately needed.
And while Penelope hastily tried to regather her composure, her eyes flickering between the two men and Michelle's book, Archer and Reid both knew something crucial. They'd rattled her, and in their line of work, rattling someone was the first step to cracking them wide open.
Penelope, sensing the sudden change in mood, quickly regained her composure. She masked her surprise with another smile, this one far more guarded. "Ah, Michelle Lim's work," she finally said, her eyes flicking cautiously between Archer and Reid. "She was truly something."
But the cat was out of the bag, and both Archer and Reid knew it. Reid smiled, opening the book to one of the pages. Penelope took one glance at the contents of the page and her face became paled.
Reid tapped the page slowly, "Could you help to sign it here, please?"
Penelope hesitated and she almost looked like she was going to scold Reid but had held back. After all, there were many eyes on them right now.
"Penelope will only sign on her own book!" A shrill voice called out - Penelope's assistant.
Reid tilted his head innocently, "Michelle told us you were her best friend, weren't you? It should be fine for you to sign on your best friend's book?"
Penelope's smile wavered and her eyes shivered lightly, "of- of course."
The dark tip of the ball point pen scratched across the page that narrated the crow.
"The crow always loved gems. It loved all things shiny. Then one day, it flew down and poked at the sea to snatch the jellyfish's crown. From then on, the crown sat snugly on the crow's head and jellyfish, with no ways to get out of the sea, simply stared at the crow who flew around showing off her crown."