BATTER 6

Gathering all the trash into a single bag, Baron made his way toward the interrogation room. Inside, the Boss still sat obediently with that same pathetic complexion. The atmosphere seemed to have shifted subtly. Looking at the display, his heart rate and breathing had settled into a considerably stable rhythm. Baron set the trash bag down and tapped the control panel a few times, temporarily cutting the camera filming the interior. He opened the door immediately, stepped inside, and offered a greeting.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Kiddo?”

The Boss knit his brows. His attitude was different from just a moment ago. Baron arched an eyebrow diagonally.

“Aren’t you eleven?”

“It’s been ages since I turned twenty.”

It seemed ten years had passed in the span of half an hour. I didn’t realize there was a black hole between the interrogation room doors.

“Then I guess this old man made a mistake.”

“Where am I?”

“The police station. Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because of the contraband trade. I’m reflecting on that.”

Reflecting? That was absolutely not something the Boss would say. He’d heard the Boss spent his early twenties acting as a lackey for smugglers. After the memory was wiped, it’s coming back? But even so, he wasn’t the type of human to “reflect.” Instead of taking the chair in front of him, Baron knelt on one knee beside the restrained Boss. The Boss looked down at him with a blank expression.

“I turned the camera off for a second. Look, no light.”

Yet the Boss acted as if he didn’t even know where to look. If he were the Boss of Neon Leon he’d served until now, he would have reflexively pinpointed the surveillance camera lens. However, the Boss maintained an attitude of not understanding the intention behind such words.

Baron’s large palm wrapped around the back of the Boss’s neck and yanked him forward. Pressed against the tightly locked handcuffs, the Boss let out a short groan. Baron’s brown eyes shone without a flicker. His pupils looked less like cameras and more like the muzzles of guns—deep, violent, spark-spitting passages forged from cold, sharp metal. Baron faced the Boss, pulling him close enough that their hair brushed.

“How about it, Boss. How does it feel?”

“Y-yes?”

“Do you feel spiteful? Do you feel hatred? Do you want to kill me? If so, now’s the time.”

Before the Boss could show any other reaction, Baron forced his tongue between the man’s lips. Pressing against the back of the other’s neck with strength just shy of breaking it, he thoroughly explored the crowded teeth, the hard ridges of the palate, and the soft, smooth membranes connecting the upper and lower jaws. The union didn’t last long. Baron wiped his damp lower lip and spoke as if to himself.

“Honestly, a small part of me suspected this might be a high-level act. No matter how much of a trashy thug he is, he’s the guy who clawed his way to the top.”

The Boss stared blankly at Baron. Even after the sudden kiss, the Boss showed no sign of shock. This wasn’t even the reaction of a “kiddo.” Is this all really an act? Has the arts world lost a star? Haha. Probably not. Baron crouched in front of him and smirked.

“But you really aren’t lying. If you were the real Boss, there’s no way my tongue would still be inside my mouth right now. Haha.”

He guessed the man would have bitten it off and hung the remains out like a necktie. Since the young Boss was a classicist when it came to violence and preferred traditional methods.

Scratching his head vigorously, Baron looked up and met the Boss’s eyes. Inside the car, the Boss’s eyes had been coal compressed with betrayal and hatred. But now, his gaze was clean—devoid of murderous intent, despair, or rage. Staring into those smooth pupils, Baron repeated himself.

“Do you really not remember me? Don’t you want to kill me for good? Seriously, you don’t find me hateful anymore?”

Baron rested his elbow loosely on his bended knee. The Boss blinked a few times and replied that he wasn’t sure. Baron stared intently into those smooth eyes, then let his head drop with a loud “haha.”

“That’s a bit… disappointing.”

That was the end of it. He couldn’t keep the camera off for too long. Stepping out of the interrogation room, Baron ran his tongue lingeringly over the back of his front teeth and the roof of his mouth. Then, he gathered his saliva and spat into a tissue. No taste remained. However, he could sense an incredibly faint, lingering scent of mint. Among the capsules provided within the police department, there was no product similar to this.

What the Boss consumed was not those shitty capsules.

Then what did the Boss eat?

Tossing out the trash, Baron headed straight for the parking lot. Just as he boarded his personal car, the passenger door swung open. The uninvited guest calmly fastening her seatbelt was Liz. Before he could even kick her out, Liz spoke first.

“No solo actions.”

“Whatever. I’m on vacation, remember?”

“Ha—ha.”

Liz laughed like a machine. Sarcastic as always. He tried to brush it off with a matching laugh, but the gaze sticking to his right cheek was stinging.

“I know you noticed something.”

“You’re sure you aren’t an android?”

“The fact that you found something out seems more important than whether I’m a machine-human or not.”

“You sure have a way with words. I’m a bit suspicious of that, too.”

Baron babbled his jokes and started the car. Today was manual driving, not autonomous. The car rose smoothly above the road. Liz crossed her arms and glanced at the receding police department building.

“We’re far enough away now that no one is listening. Start talking.”

“Who distributed the capsules today?”

“Does it matter who did it? They’re delivered directly through the distribution chute in the room.”

“That’s true, but…”

Baron made a smacking sound with his lips. The deepening city lights brushed past, coloring his profile in various hues. He continued slowly.

“I don’t know about the others, but what the Boss ate wasn’t the capsules we manage.”

“How do you know?”

“It didn’t have that signature shitty taste and smell.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“And you suspect the department’s management system?”

“Ah, that’s just our basic training. Professionalism.”

“And you don’t suspect me?”

“The suspicion that you might be an android is number one. Everything from number two onwards is meaningless, right?”

Eyes as cold and calm as reptilian scales read Baron’s expression for a moment. Soon, Liz turned her head back to the front and asked.

“Then where are we going now? The toxicology results should be out soon.”

“I got the feeling the results might be different from what I expect.”

“What are you expecting?”

He paused for a moment. A unique smile surfaced on his face.

“Paul’s friends.”

The car picked up speed. Leaving the main road, it entered a fork, and the altitude gradually lowered. The low, murky Lower City on the outskirts of New-New York. A high-crime area that sat ambiguously on the jurisdictional border of the police department. A market where bustling, crude advertisements, neon signs, and unsellable waste slowly rotted away.

This area was always in the shade, day or night, hidden by the surrounding skyscrapers. Just as all things fall from high to low according to the laws of gravity, and rainwater must go somewhere, the filth discharged from the Upper City falls here. Residents of the outskirts of the Lower City are mostly masters of recycling… and are quite excellent at illegally tinkering with brains. Neon Leon’s business associates were also hidden in every corner of these alleys.

Parking under a deserted overpass, Baron looked for the hair gel and jacket he’d tossed in the back seat. He parted and slicked back his hair with gel and threw on a blazer with slightly worn elbows and sleeves. Finally, he applied silicone bandages to various spots on his face, and the pads melted transparently into his skin.

Checking the rearview mirror, he saw several abrasions that looked like they had just scabbed over. They were fake wound bandages. It was lucky he had a few left; otherwise, he might have had to ask Liz to slap him around a bit. She was the type who would’ve hit him for real without regret, so this was much better. Finishing his disguise, Baron brought his palms to his cheeks and laughed brightly.