Farisia Rising

Part IV: Cateye

Reggie requested a room on the forty-seventh floor. If there actually was a tracker embedded in him, the overlapping floors would serve to confuse. Mel would have to search them one by one, or else interrogate the concierge—but shifts were set to change within the hour, and call it habit, but he'd given a fake name and paid with cash, so there were zero footholds to assist her there.

The room assigned was 4706. A minimalist haven, complete with a sleeping quarters, kitchen, and dining area, all adjoined. And a closetlike bathroom.

One perk was a terrace at the very end, overlooking the city. It was roughly 2 AM by the time they got settled in, so the lights were still vibrant, set apart against a leather-black sky. The stars were mostly washed-out, but a persistent few shone through.

The moon's face was full and violently-pockmarked, a schoolyard bully who'd picked one too many fights.

Reggie brought a little handheld radio out with them. But he didn't keep it on very long.

"Early yesterday, police found the bodies of six men in an alley near the ports. The identities have yet to be released, as they were said to have been severely disfigured by whoever—or whatever—attacked them. Blockades have been set up near the scene, in an effort to—" the radio went off.

"So. Cateye's the beast," he sat, in a brown wicker chair. "Can't say I'm that surprised."

Eva sat next to him, legs crossed. "If worst comes to worst, do you think you could take her?"

"Only one way to find out," he replied. "I beat Heidre, but Heidre was also an eleven, twelve-year-old rookie. Mel's likely a veteran. I can't see her going down so easy."

Eva's eyes were blinkless and haunted. "What is King Frederick doing," she asked the air, "Experiments, kidnapping, torture. This. Why isn't his parliament trying to stop him? My father would never—" A swallowed pause. "Why isn't his parliament trying to stop him?"

If Reggie was haunted, he didn't show it. "To my understanding, parliament in Thomasia is just a front to deflect from Freddy's tyranny. They don't have any real power, but they look nice to anyone on the outside. It's basically a puppet government—sans Freddy, who has full control. King Maximillian rigged it up that way." He reclined, lackadaisically. "They still get rich, though. Being a puppet apparently pays pretty well."

"That can't be. My father would have never consented to that."

"How much did he tell you, about his work? Just curious."

"Well, nothing really. It never came up. But he was always eager to help me with my charity projects. He loved the people."

"Maybe he just loved you."

She got quiet.

She riffled through maybe a hundred options, before selecting her response. It came minutes later, awkward, clumsy. It tripped over itself. "You don't...hate my father...do you?"

Silence.

The lump in her throat seemed to grow.

"He was a good man," she plodded, unable to make eye contact. She watched the city instead. "The best man I ever knew. Please, don't let his involvement with the King take away from that..."

Either Reggie couldn't read the room, or couldn't be bothered to try. He propped his feet up on the wiry-white parapet, crossing his ankles.

"His involvement with the King?" it sounded like he was smiling. "Yeah, the same King that killed most of my family and friends and hundreds of my comrades. The same King that had me shoved through basic training—put me in a position where I had to bash that Stewart kid's brains out—oh, and had me cut up in a lab. You think an accomplice of his deserves anything but my hate?"