The Lethal Heptagon

CHAPTER IV

I didn't know how to react to the grip of that young man; he was stronger than I thought. For a minute, I thought it would be a walk in the park, like dealing with the typical potbellied Wellington policemen, but that was wishful thinking. I could fight against him, but he already had me pegged. The only thing that came to mind was the years I would spend in the dungeon.

"Tell me who you are," he commanded, "and don't come at me with any sweet talk about being a happy coroner, or you'll end up behind bars."

I looked at the ground, stalling for time. "Think fast, Lucas," I urged myself, racking my brains for an excuse. His imposing presence made me feel inferior, and I was at a loss for words.

He began to steer me towards the door. "Spill the beans, or do you want to spend the rest of your youth in prison?" He tightened his grip. "What's your game?"

"I'm Lucas, and I'm just looking for information," I stammered, trying to maintain composure.

"Don't beat around the bush; be straight with me. What are you after?!" he demanded, his voice gruff and menacing.

Disturbed, I struggled to come up with an answer that would satisfy him. "I'm looking for information about the hidden sect, I need to know more about them... I have a mission to fulfill."

"You are too young, don't waste your time picking around that cult. Even the cops have given up on it, you are playing with fire." He released me and lightly patted my back. "Alright, scram, young man."

"Are you taking my ass?" I asked, "even if I go home I have no intention of abandoning. I don't care how dangerous it is, I won't back down," I said with determination. "I'm sorry, but unlike the cops in this city, I won't quit."

"Wow, you've got guts," the rookie cop said, extending his hand. "I'm Marc Estrada."
"Lucas Darwell." I shook his hand, feeling thoroughly bewildered.

"You know, Lucas, I'm on your side. That cult needs to face justice," young Marc emphasized in a hushed tone. "What's your motivation?"

"What a sudden mood swing," I thought.

"I lost someone important."
"I understand you," he said, looking towards the ground, "I lost my parents because of that sect too."
"I'm sorry man."

"Well, I can lend you a helping hand, follow me" he said, and then began to walk. I doubted whether he was reliable or not but I instinctively followed him since I didn't had other way out.

We crossed the threshold of the door, emerging from that dismal cabin. I trailed behind him with unwavering steps, watching as he meticulously tamed his flowing long blond hair. After a brief stroll, we arrived at a peculiar room, partitioned into compartments where a group of policemen lounged about. Contrary to their occupation, they seemed more interested in devouring an assortment of donuts than in any pressing matters at hand.

I positioned myself near the door frame observing as Marc made his entrance with an air of confidence.

Upon spotting me, a female cop inquired, "Who's this you've brought, Marc?" She exuded an air of authority, akin to a regal homeowner in her own domain. She had a nonchalant posture, her feet resting on the desk and a plate of donuts perched on her lap.

Marc, engrossed in his search through the drawers, replied, "Just a friend, a good one."

"Welcome comrade," she said in a cheerful tone while executing the soldier's greeting with her hand.

"The girl looks vague, but also funny," I thought.

Expressing my gratitude, I raised my hand in acknowledgement, to which three policemen also responded in unison, "Yes, welcome!"