Unworldly (Completed 2016 version)

Chapter 22

"Well, it's about time we got the chance to really chat," I said as they fastened my wrists to a chair.

"Quiet," the General snapped.

We were back in the interrogation room, with a single lamp spotlighting on me just to be dramatic, and a drain under my feet. If they wanted to make the scene look more nerve-racking, they shouldn't have made the walls a bright white. It seriously diminished the 'scary interrogation feel'.

The Professor soon launched her questionnaire. "Where are you from?"

"Morzlo."

"Where is that?"

"Gone. Long gone."

She scribbled something down on her clipboard. "What are you?"

"An alien."

"What kind?"

"A non-earthling."

"You know what we're asking," she spat. "Answer."

"Okay, well...I was the only one bred and designed this way by my kind. My species technically doesn't have a name."

"Yes it does," she said. "You said your alien name was Alpha."

"Well, I didn't get to pick it. I hate that name, and I want a different one." Well, as long as I got to choose it. The General has gotten pretty creative with the names and insults he stares into me. He's adorable, coming back to shake his tail feathers every time he finally comes up with that perfect roast.

"How old are you?" she inquired.

"A little over fourteen eons."

She pursed her lips, focusing on her notes. "What was the species that made you? The one that lived on Morzlo?"

"Gone," I said. "They're all dead."

"Are you sure of it?"

I smiled a cruel grin. "Absolutely. I killed them all myself."

The Professor froze. The General's eyes widened in surprise and disgust.

I chuckled menacingly. "They were all even bigger douchebags than me, mind you, so you're welcome."

"Mm...next topic," the Professor resumed after clearing her throat. "What is the difference between you and a human?"

"Everything," I said simply.

"I'm giving you the chance to correct the surgeries before they begin, so what's the difference?"

"Well, can I draw diagrams? Can I make a list?"

"No, you can't hold a pen."

"Yes I can, I'm wearing a monkey's descendant, just put it in my toes," I said flippantly.

Apprehensive, the Professor set a pen at my feet, which I picked up and scribbled down advice and drawings on a small stack of blank notebook paper, quickly flying through the pile with super-speed. 

This is the interrogation I've been waiting for. I don't care if they know most of how I work if it means they'll treat me better. I left out any information I worried might compromise me one day.

As I rapidly wrote (in some very messy foot-writing) with the sound of flipping papers, the Professor picked some up, scanning diagrams, lists of medicines, dietary requirements, and etc.

"You're welcome," I hissed, as she sorted through the plethora of priceless knowledge I'd provided for her in easily under two minutes.

Once I ran out of papers, she scooped them up, reading bits and pieces, asking, "If we don't give you food with metals in it, what will happen?"