The Sovereign Awakens At Sunset

Chapter 4: The Interrogation at Dusk

 

There are two ways a man can bleed in this world: from his veins, or from his soul. Right now, Archer Thomas was doing both.

The steel doors of the Precinct 12 holding cell slammed shut with a heavy, deafening clang that echoed through his skull. The air inside smelled of stale sweat, damp concrete, and industrial disinfectant.

Archer stumbled slightly, his knees buckling from the lingering exhaustion of the dawn restriction. He collapsed onto the cold wooden bench bolted to the wall, his head dropping into his palms.

The small digital clock on the wall across the bars read: 11:45 AM.

Fifteen minutes. "Fifteen minutes, Charlie," Archer whispered, his voice trembling as he stared at the grease-stained floor. "Fifteen minutes left before they disconnect her. And I'm stuck in here like a caged animal."

Deep within his mind, the system remained dead silent. There were no flashing blue lights, no comforting hum, no countdown alerts. The daytime restriction was an absolute law; until the sun dipped below the skyscrapers of Manhattan, Dallas was completely locked away, and Archer was just a fragile, flesh-and-blood human.

"Hey! Beggar!"

A heavy metal nightstick rattled violently against the iron bars, making Archer flinch.

Officer Walker stood outside, his cap tilted back, a half-eaten sandwich in his thick hand. "Stop crying. Someone’s here to see you. Try to be polite, or I’ll let the boys in the back use you for punching practice."

Walker unlocked the gate, grabbing Archer by the collar of his worn jacket and dragging him out into the dimly lit hallway. He shoved him into a small, windowless interrogation room. A single metal table sat in the center under the harsh glare of a buzzing fluorescent bulb.

Sitting across the table, looking impossibly clean and out of place in the grimy precinct, was Maverick Parker.

Maverick was swirling a glass of expensive amber whiskey, his tailored silk suit glowing under the cheap light. Beside him stood Ranger, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his face covered in fresh white bandages from Dallas's assault the night before.

"Sit down, Thomas," Maverick said, his tone casual, almost bored.

Walker shoved Archer into the steel chair opposite Maverick and stepped back, guarding the door.

Archer didn't look up immediately. He kept his shoulders slouched, forcing his breathing to slow down, hiding the raw, pulsing hatred that was threatening to break through his daytime mask. "Maverick."

"You know, Archer, I have to admit... I’m genuinely surprised," Maverick leaned forward, resting his elbows on the cold metal. "I thought you were just a pathetic little worm, a leftover piece of trash from your father’s bankrupt estate. But last night? You actually managed to hurt my property. You broke my men. You even threatened me on the phone."

Maverick slammed his glass onto the table, the ice rattling loudly. "Where did you get the muscle, Archer? Who are you working for? Is it the Russian syndicate? Or is that little rat Alonzo setting you up?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Archer said softly, keeping his voice thin and broken. "I was at the hospital all night. Ask the doctors. I didn't touch your men."

Smack!

Ranger’s heavy, gloved hand backhanded Archer across the face. The force of the blow ripped Archer’s lip open, sending a splatter of bright red blood onto the grey table. Archer gasped, his head snapping to the side, the sharp tang of copper instantly filling his mouth.

"Don't lie to the Young Master, you piece of garbage," Ranger growled, his voice muffled by the bandages around his jaw. "I know that voice. I’ll never forget it."

Archer wiped the blood from his chin with the back of his sleeve. He didn't cry out. He didn't beg. He just slowly turned his face back to Maverick, his brown eyes perfectly dull, yet deep inside, a dark spark was beginning to smoke.

Maverick checked his gold Rolex, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "You know what time it is, Archer? It’s 11:58 AM. Two minutes until noon."

Archer’s heart stopped. His breath hitched in his throat.

"I just got off the phone with the administrator at St. Jude’s Hospital," Maverick purred, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "Such a shame about your mother. Three thousand dollars is a very small amount of money. To me, it’s a light lunch. To you... it’s the price of a life."

"Maverick, please," Archer choked out, the daytime desperation finally cracking his composure. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. "Take the company. Take everything. Just pay the hospital. Don't do this to her."

"Oh, it's too late for begging, little boy," Maverick laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. "At exactly twelve o'clock, the plug gets pulled. She’s going down to the basement ward, Archer. No oxygen. No specialized care. Just a cold room and a cheap sheet."

"You monster!" Archer roared, lunging across the table.

Before he could even reach Maverick, Walker grabbed his hair from behind, slamming Archer’s face brutally down onto the metal tabletop. Archer groaned, his vision blurring as the cold iron pressed against his throbbing temple.

"Hold him down," Maverick ordered, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. He walked over to the door, stopping right next to Archer’s pinned head. He reached down and patted Archer’s bloody cheek with a condescending smirk.

"You wanted to play a game with me, Archer. You wanted to run a countdown on my life," Maverick whispered. "But you forgot one thing. The daylight belongs to the Parkers. Enjoy the cells. Ranger... make sure he doesn't have a single unbroken bone by the time I get back from lunch."

The door opened and closed. Maverick was gone.

"Alright, beggar," Ranger grinned, his knuckles cracking with a sickening sound as he stepped into the light. "Let’s see how tough you are without your little tricks."

Walker kept his heavy arm pressed against Archer’s neck, pinning him to the table. Archer couldn't move. He couldn't fight back. His chest heaved as he stared at the wall clock.

12:00 PM.

A cold, heavy tear slipped from Archer’s eye, mixing with the blood on the table. Mom...

05:50 PM. The Holding Cells.

The afternoon had been a blur of white-hot pain. Archer lay curled up on the concrete floor of the isolation cell, his ribs cracked, his left arm hanging at a strange, useless angle. They had beaten him until they got bored, leaving him in the dark to bleed out.

He was entirely broken. His human body was at its absolute limit.

But outside the narrow, barred slit of a window near the ceiling, the sky was changing. The bright blue of the afternoon was bleeding into a deep, bruised purple. The golden hue of the sun was slipping away, dipping lower and lower behind the jagged teeth of the Manhattan skyline.

Archer raised his head, his breathing ragged and wet. He looked at the electronic clock on the corridor wall.

5:55 PM.

Five minutes.

[Warning: Host physical structure damaged by 45%.] [Daytime restriction entering terminal phase... 4 minutes remaining.]

The cold, mechanical frequency of the system finally vibrated inside his skull, breaking the hours of agonizing silence.

Archer forced his bloody lips into a grim, terrifying smile. He dragged his broken body across the floor, leaning his back against the cold iron bars of the cell door.

"Hey! Keep it down in there!" a guard shouted from the end of the hall.

Archer ignored him. He closed his eyes, listening to the heavy, rhythmic thumping of his own pulse. With every second that passed, the throbbing pain in his ribs began to change. The aching lead in his muscles started to hum with a strange, dark electricity.

5:59 PM.

[10 seconds remaining until sunset.] [9... 8... 7...]

In the main office outside the corridor, Officer Walker was laughing with the sergeant, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. "Yeah, Maverick said to keep him here for a few days. By the time he leaves, he won't even remember his own—"

Ding.

The digital clock flipped. 06:00 PM.

[Daytime restriction lifted completely.] [Activating Sub-Soul: Dallas.] [Host’s physical damage: REGENERATING.] [Morality filter: DEACTIVATED.]

The temperature inside the entire cell block dropped instantly. The air turned freezing, the moisture from the guards' breath turning into faint white mist.

Archer’s eyes snapped open.

The tired, helpless brown was entirely gone. In its place, two pools of brilliant, liquid red light ignited in the pitch darkness of the cell. The broken bones in his arm cracked back into place with a loud, sickening pop, his muscles expanding as the 500% physical strength flooded his veins like boiling oil.

Dallas was awake. And he was furious.

"What the hell is wrong with the lights?" Walker muttered outside, noticing the fluorescent tubes flickering and buzzing violently.

Inside the cell, Dallas stood up, his tall silhouette casting a long, monstrous shadow against the wall. He reached out with both hands, gripping the thick, solid iron bars of the cell door.

Creak...

The reinforced structural steel began to groan.

"Hey! What's that noise?!" Walker yelled, drawing his pistol and running into the corridor.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

The heavy iron door of Cell 3 was bending outward. With a casual, effortless pull of his hands, Dallas tore the entire steel gate right out of the concrete frame, throwing the three-hundred-pound slab of iron down the hallway like a piece of cardboard.

It smashed straight into the opposite wall, burying itself deep into the drywall.

Dallas stepped out into the corridor, the red light from his eyes illuminating the blood on his clothes. The suffocating, lethal pressure of his aura filled the narrow space, making it hard for the guards to even draw breath.

Walker’s hands began to shake so violently he nearly dropped his gun. "M-Monster... Fire! Shoot him!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three bullets tore through the air. Dallas didn't even dodge. He blurred, appearing instantly in front of the first guard before the empty shells could even hit the floor. He gripped the officer's wrist, twisting it until the gun fired into the ceiling, then slammed his elbow into the man’s chest. The guard flew backward, crashing into the heavy desk and going entirely limp.

Walker scrambled backward, his back hitting the locked exit door. "Please... please, stay back! I was just following orders! Maverick paid us! Maverick told us to do it!"

Dallas walked over slowly, his boots crunching over the shattered glass of the light fixtures. He stopped inches away from Walker, looking down at the trembling cop with an expression of pure, chilling emptiness.

"Where is Maverick?" Dallas asked, his voice a deep, vibrating echo that shook the dust from the ceiling.

"He's... he's at the Diamond Club downtown!" Walker screamed, tears of absolute terror streaming down his face. "He’s celebrating the dockyard bust! Please don't kill me!"

Dallas didn't answer. He reached out, grabbed the front of Walker’s tactical vest with one hand, and lifted the two-hundred-pound man off the floor as if he weighed nothing. With a single, fluid motion, he threw Walker straight through the reinforced glass window of the main office.

The glass shattered into a million pieces, and Walker slid across the floor, completely unconscious.

Dallas turned his gaze toward the exit, his red eyes reflecting in the dark glass.

"Maverick," Dallas whispered into the quiet night. "The sun has gone down. And your time is officially up."