There it is. It's all coming back to me.
A rush of heat crept up Riley's neck as he stared at the photographs laid out before him. His lips twitched, as if moving of their own accord, curving toward a smile.
It was coming back.
The kill.
Why… why are you showing me all of this, Detective? Is it to get a response from me? Do you want me to remember?
And oh… he remembered. Every. Single. Detail.
The slow, deliberate way he peeled back Roman's fingernails, testing how far they would lift before snapping off from the skin. The slick warmth of blood trailing down his fingers—it was a shame, really, that he'd shielded his arms with telekinesis to keep the mess off him. If not, he would have truly felt the blood.
Not that there had been much blood.
Roman was already dying when Riley began tearing him apart. The pole rammed through his body—skewered clean through—had taken care of most of that. The only reason why he was still alive then was because of his mild superstrength.
Still, he managed to get out a whimper. Soft, pathetic noises that echoed in Riley's ears like music. They made his skin prickle. His teeth buzzed. His whole body shivered—not from revulsion, but… from the pleasure he was feeling in that moment.
It felt good. So good.
Uh oh. I want to relive that. Why would you show me this? I want to feel it again. Now. I want it now!
"No…" The word slipped from Riley's mouth before he could stop it. Realizing what he'd done, he quickly covered his mouth and looked away from the table.
"Aight, that's enough, Dors. Tranquila."
Jake shot forward from the wall, rushing to the table as he began scooping up the photos away from Riley. His hands moved quickly, almost frantic.
"Kid's freakin' out, man. We shouldn't 've shown him any of this shit," he clicked his tongue, shoving the photos back into Dorothy's folder.
Meanwhile, Dorothy's gaze was still completely locked on Riley. Her eyes were narrowed, fixed… watching. Only when Jake placed a hand firmly on her shoulder did she blink and finally look away.
"The hell we doin' here, Dors?" Jake leaned in and whispered. "He's a damn kid. Just a couple years older than your girl—hell, younger than my boy. You got your reaction, didn't you? Look at him, amiga."
Dorothy sighed, her eyes lingering on the boy for a moment longer before softening.
"You've done very well, Mr. Riley Ross," she said gently. "You've been incredibly brave. You have the gratitude of the police, the FBI… and the SID. Thank you for your cooperation."
Riley didn't answer. He remained perfectly still, hand still clamped over his mouth.
"You can go now," she added, more quietly this time.
Without another word, Riley stood up and walked out.
Jake watched him go with a shake of his head. "Dios mio… Dors, what the hell we even doin'? That kid's gonna need, like, hella therapy after this, no lie."
Dorothy didn't reply. She just stared at the door, eyes lowered. Unbeknownst to either of them, Riley wasn't covering his mouth in fear.
He was hiding the grin that had finally bloomed across his face. If he'd stayed any longer, they would've seen just how wide it stretched.
He quickly closed the door behind him, leaving Dorothy and Jake in heavy silence.
After a few moments of quiet guilt and second-guessing, Dorothy shook her head and stood up from her seat.
"So…" She crossed her arms, locking eyes with Jake, "You said the boy's going to need therapy. Does that mean you picked up anything from him? Were you able to read his mind?"
Jake glared at her for a moment before shaking his head with a sigh. "No. Reading regular people is hard enough, but with someone like Riley? People with his condition? It's nearly impossible."
Dorothy sighed as well. "Well, even if you did find something, it wouldn't be admissible in court without evidence. And right now, our only evidence is jack shit. We have no leads. When is Whiteking—"
Before she could finish her sentence, the lights in the interrogation room suddenly flickered and went out. They were only off for a second… but when they came back on, everything changed.
"The hell was that? Is the Academy cutting corners?" Dorothy muttered.
But Jake didn't answer—he was frozen in place, eyes wide with disbelief.
"D-Dors…" He whispered, slowly lifting his hand to point at the table.
"Wh—" Dorothy followed his gaze, and her words caught in her throat.
Someone was now sitting in Riley's chair.
Clad in full, seamless armor.
The suit was a pristine white, gleaming under the harsh lights like polished glass. It bore no insignia, no scratches, no imperfections. The helmet had no visor, no eye slits, only faint glowing lines that traced across the armor's surface—like artificial veins pulsing with a soft, pale blue light.
There was no sound in the joints. The armored figure moved in complete silence, flipping through the photographs that should have been locked inside Dorothy's folder.
The armor bore no name, no mark. And yet both Dorothy and Jake knew exactly who it was.
"Mr. Bernard Ross," Dorothy said quietly.
[Whiteking | Hero Rank: S+ | Powers… None. Although it remains uncertain whether Whiteking is truly not a super, his mastery of cutting-edge self-made technology and extremely advanced combat armor has propelled him to the upper echelons of hero society—currently ranked as the No. 4 top superhero in the world. Enigmatic and never seen without his helmet, little is known about his past, identity, or true capabilities.]
"This is the criminal who died in my park?" The voice that came from the armor was nothing like Bernard's usual voice. Unlike the endearing tone he used for his children, his voice now was cold, unrecognizable, unreadable.
Dorothy hesitated to answer, swallowing before slowly lowering herself back into her seat. Jake, meanwhile, backed up against the wall, his feet suddenly too heavy to move.
"You haven't seen the photos?" Dorothy narrowed her eyes. "I thought with your... resources, you'd already know everything about this case."
"I've been busy," Bernard replied.
"Well, lucky us—you're not busy now," she muttered.
"No," he said simply, placing the photos back on the table. Then, he turned toward her.
The helmet began to fold back—its sleek pieces quietly retracting into the collar and shoulders of the armor without even as much as a small hiss.
But there was no face beneath. No head. Just the empty air.
"I apologize," the armor continued to speak. "But I'm not really here."
***
"Yo, Riley dear!"
As soon as Hannah and Riley were out of the building where the interrogation room was, which was actually where the students were also interviewed when they enrolled in the Academy, Benjamin greeted them.
"Yoohoo! Y'all miss me or nah?!"
He waved both hands wildly in the air, his whole body moving with them in chaotic rhythm. Luckily for everyone, the area was empty enough that there weren't any innocent bystanders to witness the… spectacle.
Bella was about to drag her brother away, but Riley had already lifted his hand and waved back.
Hannah, meanwhile, wasn't nearly as amused—especially when she caught sight of Gary awkwardly trying to dance alongside Benjamin, his body stiff as wood.
"Oh god… there's two of them now," she muttered with a groan as they approached, "All that's left is that Jericho guy and there would be three of them. And did V leave?"
"I'm gone for a few hours and I miss everything?! Why is life like this?!" Benjamin launched into a barrage of questions the second they were close.
"Yo, sis, who the hell challenged you to that duel or wha'? Pauline gettin' drunk, now she lay up in da clinic wit some chick—Katherine or somethin'? Who that? Who this Katherine? An' Riley gettin' snatched by the popo? That got somethin' to do wit that dead child-hugging n—"
Before Benjamin could finish his words, Hannah cut him off.
"...Are you even speaking English?" She asked, blinking a couple of times at his words, but Riley seemed to fully understand him.
"I believe I am now a suspect in a murder investigation, Mr. Benjamin," Riley shrugged.
"Wait—what?! Oh my God, that's lowkey badass!" He screeched in response.
"Hey. No," Hannah raised a finger at Benjamin as she glared at him, "My brother's exhausted. Did they give out the dorm numbers yet?"
"Ah—bad news on that front," Gary cut in, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "They said the dorms aren't ready yet. We'll have to wait three more days, they said."
"Seriously?! But all my stuff's already here!" Hannah groaned. "Did they say what they're doing with our things?!"
"Well… we can always go to a hotel, Hannah Banana."
"Fuck you."
While the others were left scrambling for answers about where they'd sleep, Riley had drifted off, lost in his own head once again.
Oh, Mr. Universe… why would you do this? Is this a sign? Are you trying to tell me something? Are you telling me to kill Stephanie? And that I only have three days to do it?
Is this... a challenge?