~~ Oakley Police Station, Interrogation Cell 2, October 12th, 2062. ~~
A stone room, a repetitive stone room only broken up by a single table in the center, a light on the ceiling over said table; and a large bulletproof window connected to a viewing chamber.
A blonde man is sitting at the table in the middle, his injured legs are chained to the ground, his arms are chained beneath the table, and his sturdy body is bound to the chair. He sits in the chair calmly, as if it was a normal day for him.
As a door in the corner opened, a large man entered the room; laying several documents and blank papers on the table before sitting across from the bound man.
As the man sat down the light above created a heavy contrast on his face. The man's dark expression was reflected in the light as he pulled open a large book on the table, his dark skin contrasting against the bright blue of the book cover.
Before the man began reading from the book, he put a piece of blank paper in front of him and changed a recording device on the table in front of him from off to on. *Ahem* He cleared his throat to make sure the bound man was listening.
"Tyler Greenheart, Age 37, Male, born in Kentucky on November 6th, 2025 to one Jameson Greenheart and Sam Mason." The man's deep voice resounded through the room as he read from the book; after every pause his emerald eyes would stare at the suspect before continuing to read.
"7 Charges of Assault and Battery, 2 Charges of Theft, 42 Charges of Breaking and Entering, 23 Charges of Uncruel Actions to Living Beings, 62 Varying Charges of Murder; and enough forensic evidence to clone you and throw you both in jail for a very, very long time." He closed the book forcefully before resting his bare chin on his hands.
"Confess now, and maybe we'll be able to negotiate with the judge for a painless death." He coldly glared at the man, waiting for his response.
Tyler raised his head and opened his black eyes to make direct eye contact with the interrogator. "Of course I'll confess. It'd be a shame to let all of my unnoticed works go unappreciated."
Tyler was smiling faintly but spoke in a cheery tone, it was the response you'd expect from asking an author about their writing. The interrogator was visibly startled, he slightly retreated backward; intimidated by Tyler's response.
He broke eye contact with the bound man and instead focused on the empty paper in front of him, grabbing a pen from his shirt pocket.
"Alright… First, tell me what you think would be the most important part then continue from there." The man tapped on the recording device to make sure the listener's attention was on them then clicked his pen.
"Most important part?" The killer looked around, left, then right; before trying to lean in. "The most important part is that you've only found half of my work."
The interrogator laughed while leaning back in his chair. The chair's front legs lifted from the ground before slamming down forcefully.. "Only found half? Don't be so serious with such an obvious lie, at most we missed two; maybe three of your infractions."
Tyler stared directly into the fierce gaze of the interrogator once more before monotonously listing out names. "Klara Jackson, Andrew Smith, Chico Lyre, Janice Ross;"
The interrogator listened intently and tried to interrupt the man, "What's the point of you naming some of your victims? Trying to scare me or something?" The man opened a tan folder and pulled out a two-page list of names and portraits.
The killer became quiet as soon as the interrogator started speaking but then continued from where he left off when he shut his mouth. "Thomas James, Christopher Brack, Ann Putt;"
"What's your goal here? You already know that I don't give sympathy to criminals, stop trying already." The interrogator interrupted the man again.
`What does he think saying the names of a few victims is going to do? Make me think he has a conscience?` He pondered the reason behind the man's actions. `Was he trying to intimidate him? Was he trying to get some sympathy for remembering a few names?`
"You know I won't let you have your way. You are a dangerous criminal, and as the Deputy Chief of this station I should stop this sideshow in its tracks." The interrogator tapped on the table a few times before preparing to write again.
What the Deputy Chief couldn't have predicted, however, was the fact that the killer in front of them was not just naming a few names.
~~ 4 Minutes Later ~~
After several minutes he understood much better what Tyler was doing.
Tyler was standing his ground. The man was insulted because his worth was valued unjustly; that's why he named all of these names, to prove a point.
Tyler kept naming victims one after another with barely any pauses. After anger turned to shock, turned to confusion, turned to fear; the interrogator regretted what he said and pleaded. "Please… stop. I, was wrong."
The man's gaze quickly shifted between a marked list of names, a previously blank piece of paper now covered with hastily scribbled names, and the killer in front of him. The interrogator's feelings were etched on his wavering eye.
"I, Deputy Chief Gordan was wrong." The Deputy Chief placed the pen in his hand onto the table, clasped his hands together to cover his face, and spoke weakly.
Several thoughts filled Gordan's head. `How? How could he remember that many different names? His eyes didn't glance over to my list even a single time. I don't know which part is worse, the fact that he was able to remember that many names; or the fact that there was way more than we originally thought.`
"Please, just stop." Luckily for the interrogator, Tyler listened. He stopped speaking and lowered his head; a long silence followed his actions but it clearly expressed that he believed the man should take a break.
Gordan stood up and staggered towards the door in the corner, barely keeping his legs from collapsing. He grabbed a card from his pocket and opened the door on his third attempt.
After slamming the door behind him he said 1 thing to the observers, "I'm taking a smoke break… Don't follow me." Before abruptly leaving the room.
~~ Oakley Station, West Wing, Public Restrooms. ~~
"DAMNIT!" The Deputy Chief is cursing loudly in the bathroom as he slams against the mirror; the force of the fist shattering it.
"That damn guy terrified me... I had to use a lot of my energy to not fall over like a dumbass." The man seemed pissed, he looked at his bleeding hand while unclenching it, it was covered in cuts and stab wounds from the shattered mirror.
He sighed deeply before falling backward, sweat forming on his forehead in large drops. "Every time I remember that man's face and actions... He even killed a damn B Ranked Tank mercilessly."
The Deputy Chief composed himself with deep breaths before he started pulling shards of broken glass out of his hand; a strange thing however was that his hand quickly regenerated as soon as the glass shards were removed, and the wounds closed up in an instant.
"You're an A Ranked character in this city, you're famous... Just remember who you are and what state he is in, don't get terrified..." He took deep breaths before pulling out a cigarette.
After taking a long drag of the cigarette he said one last thing as he left the room, "Just don't remove his restraints."
~~ Oakley Police Station, Interrogation Cell 2. ~~
The Killer's emotions finally revealed themselves, a smirk plastered on his face. `Now your delusional fantasy of superiority should be shattered. After all, reality is often unfair.`
The Killer stared at the ceiling and let out an audible provocation "Isn't that right? Gordan Feenix?"