The Reluctant Artificer

Chapter 6: Interrogation at Twilight

The rain outside the precinct was a rhythmic, soul-deadening thrum against the reinforced glass of the holding room. Dimas sat on a metal stool that had been bolted to the floor, his hands resting on his knees. They were cold, but beneath the skin of his right forearm, he could feel the faint, rhythmic heat of the seal. It was dormant, or at least it was trying to be.

The heavy steel door swung open with a hydraulic hiss. A man in an officer’s uniform—crisp, stiff, and smelling of synthetic starch—stepped in. He dropped a thick data-pad onto the table and pulled up a chair.

"Dimas," the officer said, his voice flat. "I’m Lieutenant Kael. You’re a hard man to pin down for a conversation."

"I’m just a scavenger, Lieutenant. I don’t usually get invited to sit in rooms with guys like you," Dimas said, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

Kael leaned forward, his eyes tracking Dimas’s every micro-expression. "A scavenger. Right. That’s what it says on your registration. So, explain to me how a guy who spends his days digging through rusted copper managed to stay completely untouched during the breach at the transit hub, especially when the blast radius took out three adjacent blocks."

"I told the guys outside. I was in my cellar. I heard the siren, I locked the door, and I didn't come out until the silence started," Dimas replied. He kept his eyes steady, mirroring the Lieutenant’s intensity without blinking.

Kael snorted, tapping the data-pad. "The cellar. A convenient place to be when the world’s falling apart. We have surveillance footage of the area, Dimas. We saw someone moving. A guy, about your height, running toward the hub when everyone else was running away. Does that ring a bell?"

"Maybe it was another scavenger. Lots of us look the same when we’re covered in soot and running for our lives," Dimas said, his pulse steadying. He had spent years bullshitting fence-merchants; he knew how to hold a line.

"People who run toward a Scrap-Stalker usually end up as grease on the street, not walking away without a scratch," Kael pressed. "You’re not just a scavenger, are you? Who are you working for? The Syndicate? Or maybe someone higher up the ladder?"

"I work for myself," Dimas said, his voice dropping an octave. "I fix machines. I don’t deal in politics or power plays. If you’re looking for a culprit, keep looking. I’m just the guy who got lucky and stayed in the hole."

Kael leaned in, his face inches from Dimas’s. "Luck doesn't create localized energy signatures that fry local sensors. My techs are still pulling data from the hub, and every single reading points back to a source that shouldn't exist. You’re holding back, kid."

"I think you’re seeing ghosts in the machinery, Lieutenant," Dimas countered, leaning back on his stool. "Old tech acts up. You know that better than I do. Maybe the hub finally gave out because it was a piece of junk to begin with."

Kael stared at him, his jaw tight. "We don't usually let people like you walk, especially when they’re linked to potential terrorist activity."

"Then charge me," Dimas said coolly. "Or let me go back to my shop. I’ve got a carriage waiting for an axle replacement, and my clients aren't as patient as you are."

Kael let out a sharp, dismissive laugh. "You’re arrogant. That’s usually a death sentence in Sector 4."

"I’m just tired," Dimas corrected. "And hungry. And bored with this interrogation."

The door hissed open again before Kael could respond. Irina Sokolova stood in the threshold, her charcoal-grey coat impeccable despite the torrential downpour outside. She looked at the Lieutenant with a cool, detached amusement.

"Lieutenant Kael," she said, her voice smooth and polished. "I believe you’re finished with my consultant."

Kael stood up, his posture stiffening immediately. "Ms. Sokolova. This is an official Enforcer investigation. You can’t just walk in here and—"

"I can, and I did," Irina interrupted, stepping fully into the room. She looked at Dimas, her expression unreadable. "Mr. Dimas is currently under contract for a proprietary research initiative. If you have any further questions regarding the 'incident,' you can file a request through my corporate office. They’ll be happy to forward you the necessary forms. In triplicate."

Kael looked between the two of them, his frustration boiling over. "He was at the scene of a combat engagement involving lethal hardware. You’re telling me he’s a researcher?"

"I’m telling you that his presence at the scene was authorized," Irina said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "He was testing new dampening protocols for my firm. The result was... satisfactory. Now, are we done, or shall I have my legal team contact your Commissioner?"

Kael gritted his teeth. He looked at Dimas, then back at Irina, clearly weighing the cost of pushing back. "Fine. Take him. But keep him on a leash. The next time he shows up on our sensors, I won't be the one coming to chat."

"He’s on a very short leash, Lieutenant," Irina promised, turning toward the door. "Dimas, let’s go."

Dimas stood, feeling the weight of the moment. He walked past the Lieutenant, his stride steady, and followed Irina out of the cramped, suffocating room and into the vast, bustling hallway of the precinct.

They stepped out into the night air. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the streets were still slick with dark, reflecting oil. Irina walked toward a sleek, black vehicle that waited at the curb, its engine purring with a silence that screamed wealth.

"You’re late," Dimas said, stopping on the sidewalk. "I almost told him the truth."

Irina stopped and turned, her silver eyes catching the glare of a nearby neon sign. "If you had, you’d be dead, and the Enforcers would be dissecting your nervous system by morning. You have a lot to learn about surviving at this level, little spark."

"I didn't ask for your help," he muttered.

"You didn't have to," she replied, gesturing for him to get into the vehicle.

Dimas hesitated, then climbed inside. The interior was lined with soft leather, smelling of expensive tobacco and ozone. Irina slid in beside him, and the car pulled away from the curb with a smooth, silent surge of power.

"Why are you doing this?" Dimas asked, staring out the window at the blurred lights of the passing city. "You don't care about a scavenger. You want the core."

Irina leaned back, her composure momentarily slipping into something more predatory. "I want to understand the lineage of what you’ve found. That energy, the way it resonates with you... it isn't random."

She turned, her gaze fixing on him with an intensity that made his skin crawl. "I know who you are, Dimas. Or at least, I know who your father was."

Dimas froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. "My father was a drunk who worked the docks. He died in a collapse ten years ago."

Irina chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "That’s what they told you, isn't it? That he was just a worker who met an unfortunate end in the rubble. But your father wasn't just a laborer, Dimas. He was a keeper. And he left behind much more than a pile of rusted junk."

She reached out, her gloved fingers hovering just inches from his arm, right where the seal lay hidden beneath his skin. "You’ve spent your whole life wondering why you can fix things that no one else can touch. Why you can hear the hum of a machine better than anyone else in the district."

"How do you know that?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

"Because he was my predecessor," she said, her voice dropping to a low, cold whisper. "And he died trying to keep that core out of the wrong hands. Now, it’s in yours. Which means, whether you like it or not, you’ve picked up his work."

Dimas stared at her, the reality of her words settling into his gut like lead. He wasn't just a scavenger anymore. He was the next link in a chain he didn't even understand.

"I’m not him," Dimas said, though he felt the truth of her words vibrating in his blood.

"We shall see," Irina replied, turning back to the window as the car sped toward the upper tiers of the city. "But for now, the real question isn't whether you want the responsibility. It’s whether you can survive long enough to finish what he started."