Frederick Rolls
"I think you're all just angry. Angry that your irresponsible days of protecting this city are under threat by me and this is the only thing you can do to keep your cushy jobs as heroes; the only way to keep your glory and your adoration and your freedom to use and abuse your powers however you see fit. This little discussion is over -I believe we've heard enough. Mr. Thomas, if you would be. so. kind."
Frederick had to bite his currently ghost lips as he saw the police officers entering. These were officers he knew, people he had worked alongside as a state prosecutor and then a judge. And it felt bitter, knowing that they were actually protecting the person who had caused all of this to happen. Because he was sure that it was everything, not only Theodore's death, but the events that had caused the city to believe this was necessary. Psyclone, the bombs, heck, the very bomb that had exploded in the police station. That had to be the worst part, these people were defending the person who had murdered their colleagues.
"How depressing," Frederick started, because he was going to talk as Frederick. Not the Specter, not some hero, but as Frederick Rolls, the judge. "The moment someone buys you a bit of new equipment, a way to do away with the helplessness you've felt, you become a personal army? The police officers of this city, nothing more than guardians of the very person responsible for the death and injury of your colleagues. No, not your, our. The people we have been working alongside with for years. How dare you? No really, I wish you could see how fucked up and appalling this is," he stepped down onto the ground, becoming human again. He had no mask on, though he wondered how many would be able to recognise him.
"I'm Frederick Rolls, and I'm a judge. I've worked as a judge for 5, and I've worked within the justice system, for the state, since I was a paralegal at age 23. I don't know if this gives me any authority, but just, you know. Listen, for a moment. Because this is all sorts of wrong. Mina Fukao funded Psyclone, she gave him the means to do what he did. She is responsible for the bombs that went off in the police station, that killed not only police officers or assistants, but prosecutors and paralegals. She funded the lunatic who almost blew up the entire city, an incident people such as myself and Crick risked our lives to stop."
He pointed at Crick, happy that he actually moved his hand as opposed to something with his mind -that would really not be good right now-, though Crick would be able to feel a little nudge.
"This kid has risked his life so many times, faced people with guns and knives and with powers, to protect others. And that's dangerous, because angry people with weapons, be they powers or tools are lethal, are dangerous, I will give you that much. Heck, had this been a legit idea, not one funded by a damned murderer out to "save the world" in whatever deluded manner that is, I might have supported it, because I know the dangers of letting people with powers run around like headless chickens. Instead, I'm facing police officers who want to protect a single person, our city's finest officers reduced to mercenaries. You're not only threatening me, but this fine young man who has done nothing but to save lives and spend his life making a difference. And all he get is weapons pointed at him by the people he has aided the most. Truly depressing." He sighed and closed his mouth, hoping they would see some sense. His expression was tired and serious. He didn't want to attack a whole bunch of police officers, but he feared it could be the case. Worst case he'd have to disappear.
I told them my name though.
Nonetheless, they would bring Mina to justice. And when they did, these officers would be tried for aiding a criminal and for taking bribes.
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Tim Merridy
It didn't take long before Tim regretted running away. Not only had he given most of his money to Tom, as well his computer -he kinda hoped Tom had the sense to not click "culture movies"- but he now had no place to sleep. He wondered if his parents had shut down his reserve emergency credit card, but had a feeling he knew the answer already. So much for taking care of him in an emergency.
So, what now? Do I just... go home?
In some ways, it was tempting. Throw the towel in and surrender, use the last 50 dollars or so in his pockets to get on a bus and get home. Would it even be surrendering? He'd killed someone and clearly could not just shrug it off. Tim stopped and sat down at a bench, he was tired. Besides, he could hear sirens, and though they were likely not looking for him, they could be looking for his alter ego. Tim closed his eyes, he needed a little time to relax.
Then he heard someone call out to him. "So there's our little runaway. Or are you the other one?" For a brief moment he felt his heart stop, until he recognized the voice.
Wait. Him?
"Come on, seriously?" He turned around, and a man in his late thirties were hanging halfway out of a rather expensive car. "What are you doing here?" He'd never have expected to find Christian Moore here.
"So we do have our young master Merridy," the other said, sarcastically. "Come over here, I have some stuff from your parents, some messages and such," his father's business partner said and opened the door to the passenger seat. Tim had no qualms about entering the car, Moore had driven him back and forth from different events more often than his father had. Besides, he couldn't help but feel like it would be a better place to hide, should someone somehow have managed to identify him in some manner.
Now that's being paranoid.
"Firstly, from your mother, hand me your credit card," the other said, and Tim did so, reluctantly. The other broke it in two. "There you go. Your father asked me to hand you this," he got a bag with a piece of cake in it, some sort of chocolate cake covered in chocolate frosting and berries. It looked dry.
"No soda?"
"We can get a soda, I mean, it's pretty dry, and we both know Jack doesn't do this kind of thing very well," Christian Moore said. "Planning, I mean. A trait he must have passed of to his moron kid. Sure, you seem to have figured it out with your school, but really, a month off university, without telling your parents? What kind of stupid plan do you have this time?" the other asked, and Tim just shrugged.
"I felt overworked." Moore shrugged.
"Well, whatever vacation you've had doesn't seem to have helped you much, seeing as you look like someone hit a puppy with a truck. Besides, did you really think Jack and Alice would let you stick around once shit went down like this? I mean, just 10 minutes ago or so some spiky freak murdered a cop. I'm just here to help my sister and her kids pack their stuff and leave, but the moment I mentioned I was headed this way your parents asked me to talk some sense into you. So here we are. My sister is out of the state, but I've been stuck here trying to look for an individual in a city, calling your phone, but you've not answered."
"I'm not leaving yet," Tim said, and crossed his arms. Christian gave him a bit of a nudge.
"Give me... I dunno, give me 10 minutes. I'll even go buy you something you can actually eat. If I've somehow not made it clear why this is a stupid thing to be doing and that you need to go home before your parents pay someone to kidnap you, you can just walk. I'll even tell Jack I never found you. Okay?" Tim sighed.
"Yes, fine."
Part of him wanted to just go along with the other already.
Why do I have to be so stubborn?
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Sirius Hamilton
"Pizza would be fine, I suppose I could use something to eat."
"Good," Sirius said, and got up, starting to go through his fridge -the freezer part-, and taking out an instant pizza. "It's not luxury, but it's something. Do you want something to drink, by the way? I'm probably going to get some soda personally, since I've had a bit to drink already. You can have a can too, I only have coke though. That or milk, orange juice, or, well, I do have some ale if you want it. All the way from Scotland, even, though you can't drink too many of those. I've heard alcohol is supposed to be good for calming down," he added, and put the oven on. It was a fairly new one, so he didn't think it'd take long for it to be warm enough.
Whichever drink she asked for, he prepared some for both of them, putting his own can in front of the chair, while letting her have the couch. Then he turned on the tv, and handed her the controller. "Here you go," he told her, she could choose what to watch. He was ready to listen to her talk, though if she wasn't, there was no need to pressuring her.
I wonder what she's feeling right now.
The thought of opening the connection between the two was tempting, if only because he was a little curious. And rather bored, feeling like he lacked something. Emptiness again.
She doesn't know she's not closed it off though. And it would be rude to do so.
He sighed, loudly, and went to put the pizza inside. Sometimes he wondered if doing something that would be considered rude would be more fun than just following what social norms he had been taught as a child.
