Dead Inside

Chapter 2 | I share personal details only with people who have shared my DNA.

October 10th, 2027

Have you ever been in a position where nobody believes what you're saying?

A sporadic moment in which all members of your inner circle suddenly decide to turn their backs on you for no evident reason.

Leaving you to wonder what you did wrong to deserve such treatment - was it because of something you said or someone who made false accusations against you based on jealousy?

Because that is exactly what I was dealing with at the moment.

Except, I wasn't trying to convince my friends that I haven't slept with some dorky chick or even a married teacher, but the authorities who didn't seem to accept the obvious truth - that I was Eric Raynes myself.

No matter how hard I went on trying to convince the policeman from earlier that I had attempted to enter my own vehicle, my pleas for rapport were ignored.

And having in mind that I wasn't in possession of an identification card, I was forced to continue with this charade.

"You have to believe me! I'm Eric Raynes. You can't treat me like this!" I said for the millionth time, aiming to sound more confident than usual.

Unfortunately, the bearish deputy in front of me didn't even budge and instead continued playing Candy Crush on his ancient communication prototype he probably referred to as an actual phone.

At least he had stopped eating doughnuts like what I would define as a caveman.

"This is so absurd. Can't you at least put me in an actual jail cell? I want to see a friend of mine, he is probably in here somewhere." I whined yet again as I acknowledged the old office I had been placed in after my arrest.

No wonder the people who worked in this building seemed miserable - the toxic environment they were forced to do their job in was more than atrocious. Somebody needed to grab a mop and clean the accumulated dust that had covered every possible surface throughout the years.

And let's not talk about the enormous amount of paperwork that was sitting on top of every desk I had the trouble of bypassing.

"Will you at least stop eating with your bare fingers? It's disgusting. Grab a fork or something." I spilled out with disgust, my patience running out as I watched all over again what seemed like a bear eating his last human leftovers.

Was everyone in this police station lacking basic human manners?

"You little shit!"

As you may have already guessed, the response to my poor choice of words was not positive. Because only in a matter of seconds, I was facing the dirty floor of what appeared to be the filthiest police station I had ever witnessed in the districts of New York. 

"Get off me!" I screamed in response to the sudden violent action, only to be ignored for a numerous time.

Why was I surprised?

After I managed to get pass the initial shock, my first instinct was to take a swing at the man responsible for my demise.

Fortunately, I eventually decided against it.

First of all, that would have only gotten me into more trouble - he was an officer, after all.

And second, it was more convenient to use the situation as an easy bait for what seemed to be a police brutality.

That way, I would have gotten someone far more competent to look at my case - even if it was out of pity or fear of a severe lawsuit.

A real man of law who would have listened to my words and wouldn't have ignored me for the sake of getting a level up in some stupid game.