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[ ━━❝✧˚⋆。☾✩˚⋆。࿐❞━━ ] SILAS
"WHAT'S YOUR NAME?" asks the police officer with the crisp uniform and the honey-blonde curls.
Silas doesn't miss a beat. "Esteban Bloodknight Inkcartridge."
What? Silas isn't normally a liar, but he knows she can't know who he really is. He's not from this dimension; what if there isn't even a Silas Darling in this dimension? What if he tells them what his real name is, they look him up in the databases, and nothing comes up? They'll kill him and his entire family and everyone he's ever acquainted himself with for sure.
He can't take any chances.
He doesn't know why he's here, handcuffed to a table. The room is empty. It's just him and the officer and the table and a lamp and a large mirror, a sheet of one-way glass. He only has a vague memory of what happened, of rushing towards a police car for help. He needed to find his friends, needed to get out of there, needed to do so many things. But the officer didn't even read him his rights before he was handcuffed and shoved brutally in the backseat of a cop car. He kept asking what was going on, but the cop said nothing. When they got to the station, he was led into this interrogation room. They left him on his room until the blonde officer, McConnell, came in and started questioning him.
He doesn't know what he's doing here. He doesn't know why they're treating him like he's some kind of terrorist. He hadn't done anything wrong. He was just looking for their help.
McConnell blinks at him. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-one."
"Are you from Warwick?"
"No."
"Where, then? Berlin?"
"Wisconsin."
McConnell is eating his words up, happily scribbling on a notepad. Silas has begun to consider a career in improv.