"One should not as a rule reveal one's secrets, since one does not know if and when one may need them again."

- Paul Joseph Goebbels

08:36 a.m

8 days earlier

Less then 48 hours as a free man and Timothy Kleve found himself back in the basement cell of Ridge Valley Police Department.

“Wow,” his neighbouring cellmate, Pearlman, greeted with amazement. “You going for a record or something, boy?”

“I just thought I'd stopped by and visit.”

“Did you bring cake?”

From the corridor, they heard the distinct set of footsteps. The loud clanking of Detective Julianne Smith's flats and the soft thump of Detective Oliver Hardy's boots. The pair still wore their familiar suit and trench coat duo, making Tim theorized the two either had yet to change since they last met, or that ensemble was the only style in their wardrobe. He leaned towards the latter.

Condescending, and with a strong frosting of expectant, Julianne said, “Can't say I'm surprised to see you again,” she opened the file folder she had in her hands, flipping through the report. “Joseph Camein, killed in self defence. Alleged four civilians murdered by Camein at the motel.”

“Pfft!” Tim choked back a laughter, “His last name is Camein?”

Not helping the strict detective's mood, she fiercely countered, “You can still joke after committing first degree murder!?”

“It was self defence!”

“The hell I'd believe that bullshit!” she screamed, shocking Tim enough that he took a step away from the cell. Even Oliver looked taken aback by his partner's sudden outburst. “First your father and now this? You expect me to believe that you have nothing to do with any of this? NO! You are going to rot in jail young man. Rot. In! JAIL!” she stuck her face into the bars of the cell, shouting through it.

Pearlman whistled, impressed.

That was when Tim saw the glint in the female detective's eyes, instantly recognizing the spirit behind her force. He stepped forward, leaning just close enough to Julianne to analyse her face. Dark rings circled her fire-red eyes, fatigue heavier than those of Oliver or any other law enforcement agents he had seen before. Heavy breathing. Teeth gritted with enough intensity to crack diamonds.

He accused, “You have Sin.”

She reached across the threshold, her slender arms slipping through the bars and grabbing his neck with ease. Her sharp fingernails dug into the skin of his throat. “There's no such thing as Sin!” she growled.

Her grip was tight and painful, but was not debilitating. As Tim struggled to pull away from his attacker, he found solace in an unexpected ally. He met the shocked stare of Oliver Hardy's and knew the man agreed that the female detective had indeed gone mad.

Laying a gentle hand on his partner's shoulder, Oliver said, “Easy Julie. Maybe you should rest.”

She snapped him a fierce stare, releasing her grip on Tim's throat in the process. “This whole city has gone nuts from this Sin bullshit. Everyone thinking it's fine to do whatever they want simply because of some mass hysteria!” she turned away from Tim, focusing fully on her lecture of Oliver. “And who has to clean this shit up? Us! The cops and detectives, running around like the city's bitches to scoop up their shit!” she stormed off the side and out of Tim's view, leaving her bewildered partner with the two prisoners.

Pearlman voiced out, “That lady has issues.”

Oliver turned to Tim, “Don't worry. I've got a good feeling you're innocent in all this.”

“Thanks,” Tim replied, settling down on his concrete bed. “But your feeling ain't gonna do a lick of help without any proof, and you know that. 'Sides, we really did kill Joseph...Camein.”

“The city's gone insane. Everyone's dying left and right. There's no doubt now that Sin is real. Some of us are just having a hard time dealing with that truth,” he looked away towards where Julianne walked off to. “You've been to Roagnark. You know how mad society has gotten there in the chaos. We officers are just running around trying to prevent the same thing from happening here.”

“How bad is it?” Tim asked.

“We had another riot yesterday. It was bad. Casualties,” he looked pleadingly at Tim, “My cop instinct's telling me you're a part of what's happening. It's telling me you can stop it.”

“That's some instinct.”

“Am I wrong?”

Tim held his gaze. “No.”

Nodding in affirmation, Oliver continued, “Your friends are at the hospital getting treated. Once they're done, I'll try to see if there's some way for me to get you all out.”

Pearlman chimed, “What about me?”

Ignoring the convict, the detective continued, “Julianne has Sin. She hates that idea more than anything and won't admit it. I can't even pretend to understand what it's like, but the stress from it is really ripping her mind apart," he sighed again, a look of worry across his face. "But I don't have as much pride as her, so I don't mind asking for help when I need it. I hope you can end this whole thing before she dies.”

Tim recognized the look in the man's eyes. It was the same look of desperation that Clay gave earlier in the dream world as they fought for their lives. The same plead that Clay made to protect his sister. “I'll try.”

“There is no try,” the detective said solemnly. “If you fail here, not only Julianne, I don't think even society will be able to survive. If you've really been in Roagnark for the past twenty-four hours, you don't know the half of what happened in the city.”

XXX

10:13 a.m

8 days earlier

“Are the cuffs really necessary?” Clay asked from his seat in the hospital's corridor. Chained to the handles of the chair by his left wrist and watched by a female officer in uniform, he sifted uncomfortably as an itch formed in his splinted and slung right arm. “It's not like I'm gonna run away while my sister's here.”

The officer continued to ignore him as she had done the whole night. Standing attentively with both hands on her belt as if she was a cardboard cutout.

Undaunted, Clay continued, “Maybe you could just let me walk around a bit? Get some nuggets from the cafeteria?” though he masked it well with his tomfoolery, his twitchy behaviour gave away his worry for his sister's condition. “I could drop in and see how my sister's doing. Say 'Hi!', maybe get her something to drink? Would you like something to drink? Orange whip?”

“Your sister is fine,” the officer spoke for the first time, though without looking his way. “The bullets missed her arteries and only scraped her bone. Don't worry.”

“Right,” he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “She's strong. No worries there. Of course not. Why would I?”

Five seconds into the ensuing silence, his nervousness began to show again as he tapped his feet impatiently. He could hear the officer letting out a sigh of resignation at quietening him down. The clock on the wall behind them ticked the seconds away. A minute. Ten. Half an hour of silence passed.

A voice from down the hall called out, “Officer!” the two turned to see a young man waving from down the corridor. “We need your help over here!”

She looked down at her charge and Clay exchanged a glance of suspicion with her. They both knew that the situation was odd, considering their location.

“Don't do it,” Clay warned.

However the officer's sense of duty overwhelmed her other senses, like that of reasoning. “On my way, sir!” she raised her voice back to the man. She made her way towards him as the person disappeared back round the corner.

Clay pulled at his cuffs, desperation setting in the moment the officer vanished behind the turn. The moment he heard the succeeding scuffle from down the hall, he yanked hard, loud, and violently at his chains. But with one arm immobilized, his movements were limited. He searched around him and found the shine of a safety pin lodged between the cushions four seats from him.

He lifted his slung arm over and around his head, freeing it. Through gritted teeth, spitting saliva of pain, straightened his broken elbow to reach for the small piece of metal. He laid across the chairs and snapped the pin between his middle and index fingers, only to feel the cold steel of a guns' barrel pushed into the back of his head.

A gruff male voice, definitely not that of the detective, growled, “My boss wants to see you.”

XXX

12:22 p.m

8 days earlier

Tim sat on his concrete bed, ears picked intensely at the sounds that came from the floors above. A series of gunshot rang through to his chamber, echoing against the walls of his cells. Blood curdling screams followed suit and about ten seconds of non-stop gunfire after, preceded by a skin raising silence that seemed louder than the screams from before.

From the cell next to his, Pearlman calmly said, “About time.”

It took Tim quicker than he could blink to deduce what the man had meant. A minute later, the sound of rushed footsteps slapped against the floor and down into their underground cells' corridor. The teen got to his feet just as a uniformed officer and a tall, muscular, and heavily tattooed man shot passed his cell door and towards Pearlman. Both men carried variants of sub-machine guns with them.

“Time to go boss,” Tim heard the muscle-man croaked.

“You'll keep your promise?” the officer asked.

“Of course,” Pearlman replied to the jingle of keys. The sound of the convict's rusty cell door squeaked opened. “I'll get you your Somnidin. How many of you are there?”

The officer replied, “About twenty more.”

“Good,” Pearlman said. “If you kill fifteen of them once we get out, I'll double your reward.”

Tim could only stand and watch as the two prison breakers ran back towards the stairs to clear the path out of the station. As relaxed as if he was heading for a banquet, Pearlman walked in front of Tim's cell door and turned to the teen.

“It's been nice talking to you, Timmy boy,” despite being forced to wear the tacky white pants and shirt that long duration inmates at the station had to, the man managed to maintain a neat and presentable look. The sleeves of his clothe rolled up to tighten the otherwise baggy shirt, his pants tapered neatly. He slicked his onyx hair back and Tim immediately recognized him from the newspaper report just four days earlier. “But I've got a schedule to keep with a certain meddling kid.”

Adam Pearlman was a drug dealer. But with his stash of Somnidin in a world full of people in need of them, was now a crime lord with a store of the biggest commodity then. Complete with his own prison break for a portfolio, the man Clay helped put in jail for less than a week walked out of Tim's line of sight and into the sound of gunshots.