The emergency room was a wild, chaotic place. Some people that came through on fast gurneys were screaming in pain or crying, lamenting the loss of friends, or family, or...everything. Some were completely still and silent, now unaware of their surroundings. Some never would be again. The triage began and the staff did the best they could to manage the influx of people being admitted, but still the Doctors were perceptive enough to realize that the unconscious woman cuffed to the gurney and being watched by an officer was of some priority. They'd put just a couple stitches in the head wound, checked her out for anything else, and for the most part left her and Ivarr alone. Someone had come by to check on her, and mentioned to the officer seated beside her that she had a concussion but would be coming around soon. Aside from that, they gave them privacy.
---
Ridahne was under water. The sun was shining somewhere above her and the water was comfortably cool; below her lay still ripples of pinkish orange sand piled in tiny dunes, not unlike their darker, more russet desert counterparts on land. She was checking the traps for crabs--if she got many, she would consider keeping one for herself, but generally she sold them for a decent price. The soft sway of the current was like a soothing hand caressing her body, familiar and comfortable. Free-diving down to the bottom, she found her first trap was filled with only two crabs. Not a great haul, but that was fine. Ridahne reached for the wire cage, but before her hand made contact, the scenery morphed and shifted in a way she couldn't track to a dark, ominous version of the subway station.
You'll prove useful to the Sota-Sol yet.
She could hear his voice like a magnified echo, reverberating off of the black, distorted walls of the tunnel. The snap of cold steel on her wrist. The roar of fire. The crack of breaking stone. The screams of the dying. Their ghostly hands were reaching out to her as she seemed to float through the wreckage, feeling outside of herself. Their cold, insubstantial hands grasped at her ankles, trying to drag her down with them, to make her join in their painful keening and eerie howling. And then there was one in front of her, face mauled by fire, and its hand was hard, cold, and substantial as it actually grabbed her wrist and held it still. It had no eyes anymore, and through its ruined lips passed the whispered word, Traitor.
-------
Ridahne had started making soft noises of unease, her tattooed brow folding in slightly as her breathing began to quicken. Then, all of a sudden, Ridahne's cuffed hand jerked hard against her restraint and, when her arm was successfully pinned in place, her eyes snapped open with a cry of sheer terror and Ridahne sat up, scrabbling and tearing at the handcuff like it was a piece of hot metal burning into her skin. It was only a moment before she realized the cuff was neither a bloodied hand nor the chain that bound her to the detonation device, but just a band of metal that held her pinned to a hospital bed. With a huge sigh as she tried to catch her breath, Ridahne lay back and shut her eyes to try and compose herself, but despite her best efforts to pull it together, she already had tears down her face. Not in front of him, she thought as she became aware of the detective in the room.
"I wouldn't do that," she said to him, though she spoke towards the ceiling. "I was a soldier once, but I'm not a murderer. All those people..." Another few steadying breaths and she opened her eyes again. Ridahne did a quick assessment of her physical condition, making sure she had no other injuries than her head, which strangely felt numb. Local anesthetic, she concluded as her fingers brushed over the small bandage that covered her couple stitches. She was just thankful the injury was up near her hairline and did not interfere with her ornate facial tattoos which were, blessedly, clean now.
Ridahne sat up slowly this time, reaching over with her free hand for the plastic cup of water beside her bed and downing it all in one long chug. Despite being handcuffed to a hospital bed, Ridahne had to remind herself she was safe. Removed from the shock and adrenaline of the moment, Ridahne could now reasonably assume that they wouldn't hurt her and that if she told what she knew, she'd be able to go free. It was obvious that she was still a little nervous, but it didn't take an overly perceptive person to realize that her fear was not of the detective, but of someone else.
She sighed, finally actually looking at the detective. "I know you have your presumptions, but it wasn't me. I might be a poor, shitty transient, but I'm not a criminal. Check my records. All I've got on me in this part of the System is drunk and disorderly. I'm homeless, not some political terrorist." Her lack of a living space was not something she liked to admit, but she figured all her cards needed to be on the table now. Besides, she was not a poor, destitute beggar panhandling outside of shopping centers--Ridahne did odd jobs to earn money for herself to eat, or would trade favors for a few nights of room and board. Really, she preferred the term transient, as she saw herself more as someone without any roots rather than a dirty beggar.
"You won't believe me when I tell you the truth, but I can see you're the sort that wants it anyway, so here goes. I was set up. I fell asleep on the train and got off at the wrong station. I was never supposed to be at Amethyst Station. And I see one of my people--Azurian, from the planet Theta-- and he comes up to me and he says that apparently 'I'll do just fine" and says I'll be of use to the Sota-Sol, and claps that box on my wrist. Next thing I know, everything's falling apart and you and your friend are hauling me away. And I know," she said before he could respond, "It's very convenient, isn't it? But think about it. What kind of idiot would I have to be to bring everything I own--including all my identification papers and interplanetary transit records--in that backpack," she gestured to the large hiking backpack that was now propped up against the wall, "And then, after committing a horrible crime, strap the only evidence to myself and run straight into an officer of the law, as if to wave it in your face? If I was a terrorist, why would I put myself in the way of harm? If I'd done something wrong, I'd be asking for a lawyer and choosing my words carefully. You have to admit, it just doesn't add up."
Ridahne picked up the now empty plastic cup with her left hand and held it out towards him unceremoniously. "There. That's my story, that's the truth, now get me some water, for decency's sake, and then you can ask as many questions as you want."
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