The room was white. Officers stood around Jase, with Mr. Brawn close by. Jase was cuffed to a chair at a table in the center.
Brawn crouched, trying to remove the cuffs, but the bracelet on Jase's wrist got in the way. He fiddled with it—
FZZZT!
A beam shot out, burning straight through Brawn's hand.
"Shit! What the hell is that?!" Brawn screamed.
The door opened. A man walked in. He wore a general's uniform, but on his feet were worn babouches. His beard was scruffy, his body sloppy—like someone who didn't take care of himself—but his presence radiated a strange, heavy aura. Three imposing men followed him.
Every officer in the room straightened.
Brawn stiffened, hiding his burned hand behind his back as he saluted with the other.
"What's going on here, Mr. Brawn?" the man asked calmly, but his tone was razor sharp.
"This kid is the head of a drug cartel," Brawn said quickly, fear creeping into his voice.
"You already have the information," the man replied. "Why torture him?"
Brawn stammered, "Dozens—no, hundreds—have died because of him… and I haven't laid a finger on him until now."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Show me your hand."
Brawn hesitated, then slowly revealed the injury.
"Did he do this?"
"Yes."
A faint smile touched the man's lips. His eyes moved to the bracelet. He didn't need to ask to know what happened.
Around them, officers whispered.
"What's a legend doing here?" one muttered."That's the Forest Warden," another said. "He runs this district, but he's been too busy to manage the station, so he left it to Brawn."
The Warden gave a sharp nod to one of his men. "Unlock him."
The cuffs fell away.
"Mr. Brawn," the Warden said, "I'd like a private word with the boy."
Everyone left.
The Warden leaned on the table. "Evening, kid. How you doing?"
"Who the hell are you?" Jase shot back.
SLAP!
"I asked you a question," the Warden said coldly. "Your manners are garbage."
Jase winced. "Now my cheek hurts, thanks to you."
"Good. We're getting somewhere." The Warden's eyes flicked to the bracelet. "Where'd you get that?"
"My mom gave it to me."
"Where is she now?"
Jase stayed silent.
The Warden broke the pause. "You know, with your charges, you'll be executed."
"I'm a minor," Jase said flatly.
"Really? I thought you were twenty-two."
"Tsk. Don't even know who you are. Shove your sentence up your ass."
The Warden laughed hard, then grabbed Jase's head and slammed it into the wall—CRACK.
The bracelet flared, firing a beam straight at him, but a shimmering shield absorbed the shot.
"Interesting," the Warden murmured. "Looks like it triggers when you're in danger."
Jase spat blood. "What kind of cop are you? My dad's gonna sue your ass."
"We can make a deal," the Warden said.
"What kind?"
"Ever heard of Functionaries?"
"They're government people in charge of animals, right?"
"Close enough. Want to join?"
"Hell no. I heard you're all crazy."
"That's how the public sees us. But here's the truth—you have two choices: die… or become one of us."
"Why me? And how, when I'm accused of running a cartel?"
The Warden straightened. "I run the Forest Functionary faction of the Republic of Cameroon. My reach is long. And you… you have something rare—Hojun, spiritual energy. Every living thing has it, but only a few have enough to be a Functionary, sorcerer, or superhero. You? You've got plenty."
"So I have no choice," Jase muttered. "How do we seal the deal?"
"We need your father," the Warden said. "You'll both sign a Functionary Pact."
"And where's that?"
"Wait here. I'll bring the pact. In the meantime, call your dad."
He handed Jase a phone. Outside, officers whispered about what was going on inside. Not Brawn. He knew this would end badly for him.
The Warden stepped out. "Gerald, give me a phone."
Gerald handed one over. The Warden went to his car.
In Essos, at the Mengjon family home, Jase's father was pulling a beer bottle from the couch cushions when his phone rang—unknown number. Depressed, he ignored it.
Back in the interrogation room, Jase cursed. "Pick up, damn it."
The Warden returned. "What'd your dad say?"
"He didn't answer."
"Number?"
Jase gave it.
The Warden called again. At the Mengjon home, the phone vibrated on a table in the messy living room. His father lay in his bedroom. The place was in chaos: clothes too clean to wash but too dirty to fold, bed unmade, drawers dumped out—like someone had ransacked the room. On the floor, he convulsed beside two bottles: one beer, one labeled Dream.
In the interrogation room, Jase's voice shook. "Maybe I should go home."
"Yeah," the Warden said. "I'm coming. Just in case you try to run… or something happens."
They left in his car, the Warden's men following behind.
Minutes later, they arrived at the Mengjon home.
"Nice house for a cartel boss," the Warden muttered.
Jase stepped in. The smell of alcohol hit him. His father's phone sat on the living room table. The Warden's men rummaged in the kitchen, but Jase went straight to the bedroom—
"Shit!"
His father lay on the floor. Jase dropped to his knees and started CPR.
The Warden entered. "Calm down—he's alive."
He crouched, pressed his palm to the man's chest. A green light pulsed from his hand.
"Up," he ordered.
Jase's father slowly sat up. The Warden's phone rang; he stepped outside to answer it.
Jase's voice cracked. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"I… I didn't know…"
Jase hugged him tightly. The Warden's men watched from the doorway.
"What happened?" Jase asked.
"I overdosed," his father said, guilt in his eyes. "I couldn't stand losing the only person who still loves me."
The room was silent.
"Who are they?" his father asked.
"A way out of prison," Jase said. "But I'll have to become a Functionary."
"A Functionary?…"
The Warden reentered. "Both of you will sign a pact. That'll get Jase into the Functionary school."
"But he doesn't even have his diploma," his father said.
"My team will handle that. Don't worry." The Warden smirked. "Now—I'm hungry. What's for dinner?"
"I'll cook," his father replied.
Minutes later, the Warden's men ate in the living room, the rest at the dining table.
"Mr. Mengjon," the Warden said between bites, "your cooking's as good as your son's talent for making drugs."
The comment made both father and son tense.
Outside, a car pulled up. A man in a suit stepped out and rang the bell. One of the Warden's men opened the door. The stranger handed him a folder, which was taken to the Warden.
He set it on the table.
"You ready?"