The texture of the walls and floors changed from the room to the hallway; rough brick and linoleum tiles gave way to drab, imposing concrete on all sides. The walk down the hall was short, first going straight and then a ninety-degree turn to the left, until Arthur was met with a locked metal door, like that of a freezer.

The bolt was easy enough to slide out of place, and Arthur cautiously pulled the heavy door open. He sighed. He probably should get Judith before going to confront... whoever was in this room, but he felt caution pull him away from that decision. If there truly was someone who’d been kidnapped trapped in here, Judith was not the most comforting presence in such a scenario.

After all, in the usual thrum of what he could comprehend of others' truths and perspectives, he could only sense a distinct feeling of loss from the other side of the door.... And underneath that, an incomprehensible feeling of coldness. The feelings were simplified and sharp, like those of a small child or an animal. Arthur had no clue what to expect, but he couldn't help the bubble of pity growing in his chest.

At the far end of the dimly lit, windowless room were the bars of a prison cell, and behind the bars sat a stranger. His thick, long hair fell in waves past his shoulders, a sea of brown streaked with gray as he hunched in his cell, obscuring his face from view. He was barefoot, and wore a simple white shirt and gray sweatpants, which looked baggy on his gaunt frame. Even though, if he were standing, he'd likely be taller than Arthur himself, he looked so very small.

The most concerning thing, however, was the thick, black iron chains connected to his neck, wrists, and ankles, keeping him tied to the wall. They were long enough to allow him to sit relatively comfortably, perhaps stand if he wanted to, though their weight was clearly what kept the Man so low to the ground.

"Hello?" Arthur said.

The Stranger looked up at him. His sienna-toned skin, stubble, and prominent nose gave him a refined and elegant look despite his squalor, although his youthful face betrayed that he was likely not much older than Arthur himself. His brown, almond-shaped eyes sat under bushy eyebrows and above dark bags, the brightest and gentlest part of his face. They twinkled, and Arthur found it hard to pull his own gaze away from theirs. The Old Man wasn’t wrong when he said this guy had a sort of elegant beauty.

"Hello," the Stranger's voice was soft but deep, his dulcet tone remarkably calm for someone chained up in a dark room. "Can you please help me out of these chains?"

Arthur regained his composure. "Uh, I'm so sorry. Are you alright? Are you hurt at all?"

The Man shook his head. Arthur walked forward and examined the bars of the cage. "I'm Arthur Descott. What's your name?"

The Stranger hesitated. "John."

"Last name?"

John said nothing, his brows furrowed in thought.

"I need your last name so we can try and get the police involved," Arthur pressed. "We just want to help you, I promise."

John sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't remember my last name. I wish I did, but it's... slipped my mind."

Arthur hesitated, but then pressed on. There was time to unpack that later. "How'd you end up involved with all these gangs? And this cult?"

John lowered his head again, breaking the eye contact Arthur hadn't realized they'd held since he'd walked into the room. "I-I...”

He trailed off. Arthur sighed. "It's alright. We can continue with the questioning once we get you out of here, alright?"

John looked up again and offered a small smile. "Thank you.You’re being very kind to me."

Arthur shook the lock on the cage and pulled out his lock-picking kit from his pocket. Might as well chat to pass the time. "So, how old are you?"

"I believe I'm about 29."

Ah, so they were around the same age. Arthur could bet that the gray in his long hair was possibly from stress. "Where are you from? What town?"

"I... don't remember. I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you more about myself, but.... so much of it has gotten away from me. I just want to get out of this place."

"It's alright," Arthur comforted, "Stress tends to mess with our memory. Maybe you can jog it if we get you to a better place."

"Arthur?" Both turned to the door to see Judith with a lit cigarette in her mouth. "Who's that? Is that the guy they kidnapped?"

"This is the supposed 'God,'" - he said, using his fingers as quotation marks - "That the Talon leader was rambling on about."

"Who is she?" John asked, cocking his head.

"Judith Monroe, my partner. She's here to help." He turned back to her. "Help me with the cage, will you?"

Judith did not. She froze in place, a deer in headlights, staring at John. "Arthur. Step away from him."

"What? Why?"

"I have a bad feeling about this," She said, her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she pointed at John. "This guy is what four separate criminal organizations have been playing Hot Potato with for the past year. They've been transporting him around in some metal death trap, and now he's just... here? It's weird. I don't trust it."

"You don't trust anything," Arthur warned. "Look, he's just a victim in this. Let's interrogate him when he's not in chains."

"Think about what this looks like for a second," She stepped into the center of the room, looking down at a kneeling Arthur and gesturing to John, who now sat up to his full height.

She released a puff of smoke. "The Talons are one hundred percent convinced that this guy is some sort of God, and then when we find him, he’s wearing an iron chain on his neck and every limb, is trapped behind a locked jail cell in a hidden windowless room with cement walls and floors that are at least three feet thick with the only exit being a metal bolted door. And none of that seems odd to you? That they've gone through so much effort just to keep one guy contained? That they had to bring him here in a fucking coffin?"

"I don't know, maybe they're just insane and paranoid," Arthur argued. "Look at him. If he was actually some sort of a god or some such nonsense, I doubt a few chains or a room would stop him. This is clearly a misunderstanding."

"Maybe so," Judith posited, putting her cigarette out onto one of the concrete walls. "I'm not saying he's a god. I don't think he is. But just because the cult may be wrong about what he is doesn't mean he's not powerful, and it doesn't mean he's not dangerous. He could just be a regular scumbag."

"He's been perfectly civil so far," Arthur said weakly as he stood up.

Judith tilted her head to look down at John but still spoke to her partner. "Your friend hasn't said much since I walked into the room. Why is that?"

Arthur turned to look down back at John. Even though he looked the same as he had for the past few minutes, his demeanor as Judith got closer to him visibly shifted so minutely that Arthur was almost convinced he'd imagined it. His posture had stiffened, allowing him a greater spread of confidence. His eyes, which were at first hopeful and shiny, hardened as his gaze grew sharp and judgemental. His mouth was no longer a pitiable smile but a straight, terse line, as if he was annoyed to be there. Arthur had at first mistaken him for smaller than he was, but now he couldn't help but notice how much space he took up in the room even from behind bars.

"So," Judith continued, "Why don't you tell us why you're here? Why you’re really here?"

John chuckled, the sound still as soft and deep as before, but it was the bold chuckle of someone who held all the cards. When he spoke, it was smooth and lilted, cold but with an almost imperceptible joviality that felt out of place in their current situation. "You don't already know?"

"Why did the Talons want you so badly? Did you offer them something, or did they take you against your will?"

John sighed and even had the gall to look at his nails as if they held more interest than anything the investigators had to say. "Those are two different questions. Which do you want me to answer first?"

Judith shrugged. "The first one."

John also shrugged. "They want me for their own purposes, I suppose. As for the second question, no, I didn't offer them anything, and yes, they took me by force."

"Are you actually a god like they claim?"

John scoffed. "If I am, I wouldn't waste my time in this room. I'd have blown the roof off of this place ages ago."

Judith pursed her lips. "That's not actually an answer."

John's dark eyes tilted up at her, and a delicate smile, cunning and dripping with smugness, crept onto his face. "Well, do I look like a god? Do I make you want to worship me? I won't complain if you do."

"That's also not an answer. Are you or are you not a god?"

The smile fell, and it was only when he sat back a little that Arthur realized John had leaned closer to the bars. "....As far as you are aware, I’m not."

"Okay, that's as much of an answer as I'll get. Where are you from?" Judith paced back and forth, her eyes never leaving his.

"Where is anyone really from, anyways?" John answered, scratching his nose. "For what it's worth, I have no home or an address, so if you're hoping to contact any family or friends of mine, that's not something to concern yourself with. I’ve done a lot of traveling, if that answers your question."

Judith’s eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t.”

Arthur chimed in. "Is it that you have no family, or... perhaps your issues with your memory mean you don't remember them very well?"

John's head snapped back to him, and Arthur expected his harsh gaze to cut into him. Instead, he was met with softer, gentler eyes and a contemplative, dour expression. "It... It doesn't matter either way. I have no one on my side."

"That's not true," Arthur said, grabbing one of the bars. "If you're honest with us, we can help advocate for you. We can help you."

Judith scoffed. "Why are you trying to sweet talk him?"
Arthur scoffed back. "What happened to 'innocent before being proven guilty'?"

"I thought we weren’t cops, Arthur."
"Is one of you going to let me out?" John said, his annoyance returning. "I don't really

like being in such a confined space."

"You don’t get to make demands right now, and we'll keep you here as long as we need to," Judith leaned on the bars. "We work for the Paranormal Investigators of New Haven, meaning any paranormal or paranatural threats fall under our jurisdiction. Civil matters fall under the police's. The dilemma we face right now is figuring out which category you fall under. If you're just a regular kidnapped guy or some mundane criminal, then you're the police's problem. If you're anything else, then you're ours. So make it easier for both of us and tell me which one you are."

John was quiet for a while. His gaze fell to the floor as if contemplating what to say next. Then he smiled. "Who's to say, really? If I was some sort of existential anomaly, is there any way for any of us to prove for certain?"

"You just really hate giving us any straightforward information to work off of, don't you?" She groaned. "Do you have any powers or paranormal abilities? Anything that can mark you as a paranormal case?"

John chuckled again. "Maybe I do, maybe not. It's such a shame I won't tell you."
"Then answer this," Arthur interrupted, and John's gaze softened again as they made eye

contact. "What will you do if we let you out of this room? Will you hurt people?"

John's demeanor shifted once more, and he visibly shrank, his eyes growing wide. "My situation relies on doubt and on trust. There's really no possible way for you to tell whether I'm saying the truth at any given moment while I’m locked in this cell. Now, I could tell you that I'll go live in the forest and never interact with anybody for the rest of my life, or I could tell you that I’ll donate to charity, but the truth is that you don't know me, and there is no way to ever truly know me until you open this cell door. If I tell you I won’t hurt anyone, I could easily just change my mind the second I leave. You do not know me."

"Let us try," Arthur insisted in an almost pleading way, "If you genuinely need help, hell, even if you're lying to us right now, just trust us to help you get out of this room. Give us any information about yourself, something, anything we can work off of."

"I can't," John buried his face in his hands, his voice betraying what felt like genuine anguish.

"Can't?" Judith asked, "Or won't?"

John held his face in his hands and said nothing else.

Arthur took his chance to interrupt. “Then answer this at the very least. Do you want to leave this room?”

John looked up, his warm eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Right now, yes. More than anything.”

"That’s the most straightforward answer he’s said so far,” Judith scoffed. “Arthur, let's step out for a bit."

Arthur nodded and pushed himself off of the bars. "We'll come back."