...

“So,” he steepled his hands in a cheesy villain gesture. I’m sure others could have pulled it off, but not him.

“Reveal your disguise.” He has already asked this... 5 other different ways... but he is a government individual. It’s practically a requirement that he bugs me death

“I do not know how to. The COE was the one to place it on me.-” I mean, technically I could guess, but minor issues like that easily allow one to skirt by auras like this. “-Why would you even want to see the ugly corruption? What is the point?”

“What are you?”

“I was a human being.”

“What are you now.”

“I am now strongly influenced by the COE, resembling some of his concepts.”

“I think you know what you are and what the COE is. Tell me.”

“I only know that we are Essence-based beings.”

“Yes, but what kind of Essence-based beings?”

“The kind to capture me, torture me, r--- me, and corrupt me until I lose my humanity.” My Charisma flares and pain practically radiates out of my eyes. I slam the table with my fist and he flinches in preparation for a possible blow. “I am a victim, you asshole. Why can’t you just let me go?!”

“You still have yet to tell me what you are. Tell me NOW!”

“I am unsure beyond what I have already given.” By now, his Will is exhausted, and I am emotionally exhausted.

A blue flicker appeared in my vision, offering a brief moment of respite from the interrogation.

-Major Mesh of Pain: Congratulations! You have obtained a branch off of Pain Resistance. The concept of pain has integrated further into your being. Interrogation Resistance gained.

“Looks like you got a notification. What is it for?” He asked, just as professional as I was. He had plenty of years to raise his own Meshes. I wonder how powerful they are.

Unfortunately, I cannot ponder this at the moment. This is FUN though. Being able to tell only truth is an interesting restriction. I also appreciate that the Charisma has enabled me to resist the bastard’s ability. It’s nice to actually be able to fend against someone else’s ability instead of being subject to the whims of their skills for years.

“It’s a branch off of Pain Resistance.”

“Oh? What is the reason you are so high level in Pain Resistance at such a young age?”

I give him a flat look.

“Personal reasons.” I am purposefully stonewalling because giving personal information so easily would equally be a dead giveaway that I am a spy, because it would have meant that I have an answer prepared for everything.

“Give them.”

“Why should I? This is America. I shouldn’t have to give personal information.”

“Kid, that was void when you ‘accidentally’ teleported here.”

“I already told you that a COE did it against my will.”

“And yet you weren’t honest earlier.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I made sure to prep my cards, read a few times to make sure I had my facts straight, and then kindly asked the monster to send me home once all of my friends died.”

“Wait. Don’t think I did not notice you trying to change the topic. Why is your Pain Resistance so high?”

“Dude,” I slouch in my chair, kneading my forehead in false exasperation and exhaustion, “I wasn’t trying to do shit. I already told you I didn’t want to tell you. The topic of interrogation changed. That’s how conversation works, dummy.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me!”

“Nice try. My stats are quite a bit more impressive than your shitty aura since that COE messed with me,” I give him an amused grin, to see if I can get his blood pressure to raise a bit. By now, I would be expected to be antagonistic. Unless you are a saint of patience, imp of sloth, an immortal, or a professional spy, antagonism is expected from the tired innocent civilian.

A hint of anger crept into his voice. Success!

“Get someone to partner with me. If you can, get Sallie. I know she is busy. Tell her my aura is doing jack shit by now, and our hostile needs some stronger stuff.”

I swear the way he phrased it sounds like I need stronger alcohol instead of needing someone with a more dominating mind control aura. HA! I’ll admit, I could use some stronger alcohol.

…

“While we wait for her, who are your parents?”

“They are dead.” Dead to me, that is.

“How surprising,” he said sardonically.

“What are their names?”

“I don’t recall.”

At this, he frowned deeply. Through his helmet of course. He still hasn’t removed in the past three hours in this purposefully insufferably hot room. By now, I am certain the bastard has internal air conditioning. So freakin’ unfair.

“What do you mean by that? You don’t recall their names?”

“I’m, uh, sorry. This is rather embarrassing,” I visibly straighten up, an obvious change in how I was carrying myself. “I didn’t really like them, but to not remember their names is a bit far, even for me.”

He inquires further along this vein for roughly an hour, exposing my deficiencies in memory.

“I was on my way through school.”

“Did it involve Magic in the curriculum? You seem rather powerful. Are you a contractor or Magic Girl?”

“It did involve Magic.” Of course it did. There were Magical Guardians that saved my ass. What are with these dumb questions? I know you aren’t that good, but these are sad.

...

“I’m a contractor.” With my girlfriend. These are so riddled with loopholes they can only be the standardized questions that the government makes. I have to remember that they are not Imps.

“With what Demon?”

“Elisa.”

“I thought you were strictly romantic.”

“We are not strictly romantic. That’s... the main stuff in our relationship. But if you really want... to use your aura to nitpick, then we also trade things back and forth. Sometimes, we would play a few games of Contract Contact – TheCOEforcedmeintoacontract – and have a blast.” By now, I am really hamming up my exhaustion from the heat. This heat really means nothing.

It is, however, convenient for a well-placed breakdown. Slowly, I have guided us here, just need to some more time to make him feel like he is getting somewhere.

…

I can feel his feeling of feeling like he is getting closer to the truth. I internally smirk.

“Just how did you lose your friends and in what way did you participate? How did the COE use their deaths to send you here, and for what purpose? I understand that it wants you as a plant in school, but for what purpose?

“I-” I pause for a moment. Tears well up in my eyes.

“Where is it now?”

“-don’t-.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH...” I scream hysterically, clawing desperately at my face. I gouge hanging trails of flesh from under my eyes, toppling over to the floor. I make sure to really work my cold brass hands inside my muscles.

“Guards! In! NOW! Subject of interrogation is attempting to kill themselves due to to a possible geas. Restrain subject!” The guards immediately stampede in, throwing out spells to restrain me from increasing my self-inflicted injuries. I shout and babble nonsense, mummified by spells. I halt in my actions, before focusing intensely on my own tongue.

I must commit to the role.

I engorge it with my own blood, till it bloats like a writhing black leech with a life of its own. My teeth chip as I force it to writhe out as if my body is rebelling against me due to corruption.

They shout in terror, avoiding the shining-black tongue waving around as long as my body. I make sure I avoid them as my ability Jester’s Privilege would prevent me from attacking them in the first place.

I choke on my own tongue, muffled screaming issuing from my lips like a clarion call of pain, as the eyes on my face rolled to the back of my head. In a falsely desperate attempt to escape the bindings and kill myself, I dislocate my shoulders and break my angles.

“HOLY SHIT! GET A HEALER IN HERE NOW! SHE’S RUINING HER BODY TO KILL HERSELF!” Doing that much for little ol’ me? Healers aren’t exactly common. In fact, I would go so far as to say they are the rarest class known. Of course, this is excluding Magical Guardians when measuring the number of Healers that exist, who skew practically every statistic in the study of Essence.

They all surround me, a mixture of wariness and shock evident in their bodies and aura, linked to me with a careful application of whips glowing with Strength. The Healer rushes in, a radiant expression of worry for life on their face. I always find it hard to believe there are such saintly people like Healers. Those people are always pacifistic and caring for other’s lives to the point of ridiculousness.

“Oh no! What happened to you!? You poor thing. Just a couple of seconds and I promise you I’ll help you.”

The person raises their hands and weaves a complex array of runes, throwing it over me. Just like that, I am healed in spite of my desperate thrashing around.

…

I find myself once more seated at the table, my self-inflicted injuries healed, and playing up my trembling from exhaustion into traumatized jitters at “trying to kill myself.” The interrogator would have likely been able to handle me if I had caused any trouble, but now two guards are crowded in for my own sake.

The interrogator looks at me with a frankly exhausted expression.

*Creak*

The exit door swings inward and a tall individual in an equally elaborate suit armor resembling his strides in, closing it behind themselves. He turns to look at them with naked relief and jabs a thumb at me. “She’s your job now Sally. Resisting her Charisma has just about crushed me mentally. You thought being a teenager was bad? Try dealing with the mood swings her tears cause you. Have a party.” So saying, he practically skips out.

The new interrogator, Sallie, turns to look at his quickly exiting self vexedly, before turning back to me with a heavy sigh. She plops down on the chair, puts her feet on the table, and reclines backward. With no fanfare or gestures, her Will slams into my mind so hard that I smash my nose right into the steel table.

“Oh f-f-f-fuck you!” I chatter out, giving myself a dead-fish stare.

“Why is your Pain Resistance so high?” she demands.

“I-I-it's because I cut myself on a regular basis be-be-be-because I detest myself. I am clinically diagnosed with severe depression.” I stutter out, making a token resistance to avoid telling her.

“What are you?”

“I t-t-t-told you already. I am something influen-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-ced by a COE and not a human. I have n-n-n-nothing else to say to you.”

“Look kid. I’ll be honest with you. I think you are an elite child soldier, modified by a country in one of the Dimensions that America isn’t on good terms with, and you have a natural talent in spy-related tactics,” she said with remarkable frankness.

I “muster” up enough venom to kill a horse. “Well, I’m n-n-n-not. Let me go. Please.” I swallow emotionally.

It didn’t change her mind, not that I expected it to, but the emotional impact hit her like a truck. After another hour of back-and-forth dialogue and then another few hours of trying to get me to talk after I “broke down.”

Boo-yah! With luck, they’ll stick me in an Magic-Teaching academy with a military scholarship just in case they can use me to find “the deadly COE going around changing kids and trying to spread their influence.”

I deserve a pat on the back, not going to lie. I talked my parents into still paying for the school despite disowning me. This was similar... but simultaneously, so much far harder than that.

Damn. I’m so tired.

I feel like a gacha game player sometimes when I do these things. Let’s see whether it works. Crossing fingers.

The healer wheels me in onto a soft bed, while I am in a “state of shock” after scolding the interrogators for pushing me too hard.

And then the most incredible thing happened.

Facet crawled into my bed, somehow teleporting with me, and sneaking by everything inside the building this entire time. They have to have the ability to go through freakin’ walls. I send the biggest smile over a plume of Miasma I breathe out over the the living crystal-bed.

Starsdamnit, I cannot believe it. You did not leave me. A tear slips down my face. Maybe things are looking up.