He’s watching me through those glasses, still completely unreadable.
But… strangely enough, I feel like I’m picking up something else from him, like I can sense his presence beyond the mask, like there’s some kind of focused attention directed at me. I can’t see his face, but I know there’s a real person behind it, and right now he’s… interested. Or maybe intrigued. That’s theonly way I can describe it. How is it possible that I can read that so clearly?
Storm sits behind his desk, looking oddly animated, almost excited.
"Gabriel, you know your situation. This gentleman would like to speak with you and learn more about your case. Are you willing to explain your situation so he can understand your motives and what led to your offense?"
Wow, when he puts it like that, it sounds heavy. "Your offense." Damn.
Three months ago I never would’ve imagined I’d end up here, explaining myself to a stranger.
Feeling my jaw clench, I clear my throat once, then again, but it’s still tight, so I cough louder. Well, if anyone had doubts about whether I’m nervous, they don’t anymore.
"Well, I…" I have to clear my throat again because my voice sounds like I’ve got a bad infection.
"About a year and a half ago, I got interested in a certain omega."
Wow. Yeah, I really jumped straight into it.
I shift slightly in my seat, feeling weirdly uncomfortable.
"This omega was starting an eco-activist group and was looking for people to join. He approached me on a walkway and handed me a flyer. We talked for a bit. I really liked him." Yeah, I know I already said that, but it just keeps coming out the same way. "So I decided to go to one of his meetings. There were only a few people at first since it was just starting out. He talked with a lot of passion about his plans and his vision of the world. I didn’t really have strong opinions on any of it before, but what he said made some sense. And… I liked looking at him, so I figured if I kept showing up, maybe something would come out of it."
Storm is sitting there like he’s waiting for the final conclusion. Gessler is staring out the window, clearly not that invested.
The only one actually listening is the omega, and he’s listening closely… which is kind of nice. People rarely listen to me for more than a few seconds.
"At the next meeting, it was just me. Everyone else had dropped out. We talked, and he asked me what I liked to do. I told him I train with my friend, that we go to Muay Thai sessions, that’s how I spend my free time after classes. Marcel, that’s his name, seemed really excited about that and told me I should try fighting in underground clubs because you can make good money there. He said there are plenty of opportunities if you know where to look."
Storm makes a face like he wants to roll his eyes but stops himself.
"I was against it at first because I only fought casually, just for myself, for fun, with my friend from school, Archer. We treated it as a way to stay in shape because in our field, cybersecurity, it’s easy to turn into a hunched-over nerd. But we never planned to make a career out of it. Still, Marcel kept pushing, and eventually, because I wanted to impress him, I agreed to do one fight."
I keep my tone steady, mostly to keep my emotions in check, but everything I’m saying is honest, exactly how it happened, because I want them to understand me.
"So I went to this club, and the fight manager paired me with a moderately known guy who was climbing the rankings. I won, got paid, and I felt grateful to Marcel for pushing me into it because before that I was living off a small scholarship. So, kind of carried by that feeling, I gave him the money. Marcel used it for a big campaign with flyers and banners, and that actually worked. New people started joining his club."
Suddenly, the omega speaks.
"So your motivation for joining the group was personal rather than ideological?"
His tone hits me again, sharp, almost knife-edged, like I’m being examined.
I swallow and clear my throat.
"I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but yeah. I did it because I thought maybe he and I could become something more than just people from the same group."
"And did that happen?"
"No. Over that year and a half, I kept fighting regularly, every month or two. I gave most of the money I earned to him, for the organization, for his car, for materials, for his rent. I went to protests, events, awareness campaigns, charity concerts, all of that. But he started getting interested in other men. He didn’t really notice my… feelings. A few times I wanted to quit because I knew I wasn’t his type, but the heart doesn’t just stop when you tell it to. It just… keeps going."
I realize how ridiculous I sound, like some lovesick teenager, so I cut that line of thought short.
"How did you end up here?" the man asks evenly.
"Marcel hated a certain company, Malden Pharmaceuticals, and its boss. He believed their medical products were dangerous and that the owner was pushing society toward reproduction-focused goals. Marcel shared a lot of NFH’s ideas. He thought humanity should go extinct."
The man shifts slightly, almost straightening.
