Derick Andrew sat on a chair in front of his apartment door. He was the only person in the building; every other neighbor had gone out for their daily activities. He should have been at work too, but his workplace was under temporary lockdown.
Snacks in hand, all smiles, social media was a thing of joy for the twenty-two-year-old. For someone who had always struggled to adjust to the city, with boredom his constant companion, today carried much more fun than usual.
[Narrator]:
😒 We all know why.
Derick's day went by smoothly until his eyes started shutting—nature was taking over. Suddenly, his ever-attentive ears picked up a sound: motorcycles. The noise grew louder until it reached the open space in front of the building.
Derick looked toward the balcony to see who the riders were but couldn't make out their faces because of their helmets. When they finally removed them, the men didn't look like anyone he knew.
The light-skinned guy with a fade mullet, hoodie, and jeans smiled and gave a salute. The other, wearing a T-shirt and jeans, his beloved ponytail swaying behind him, crossed his arms and nodded.
"Derick Andrew, a word please," Timothy called out.
Derick's eyes widened in shock. How do these people know who I am? he thought. His mind quickly offered an answer:
They could be fans—you did save people at the zoo.
A smile spread across his face. "Am I really that popular? If so, I don't do autographs."
Raymond scoffed and replied, "We just need a word."
Derick walked down from the building, stopped in front of them, and said, "I'm here. What do you need?"
Timothy stepped forward. "Derick, don't take this the wrong way, and don't choose violence. You will temporarily be in the custody of the Hero Association."
Derick's face lit up; the words he heard felt like warmth flooding his chest.
"Wait— is this how you guys recruit? Oh my God, I'm getting scouted!" he shouted.
Raymond was about to clear things up, but Timothy nudged him.
Smiling, Timothy told Derick, "You're quite the popular person in our association. Our boss wants to meet you."
[Narrator]:
Derick, you fool 😑. Haven't you heard the saying, never talk to strangers? Eh, but this is good—they're meeting up faster than expected.
****
The Hero Association welcomed Derick Andrew, but their faces weren't the kind he expected from people recruiting or scouting him.
He was in awe of the building. How they had arrived at it still shocked him, but he said no word.
The three men walked into the elevator—one with a smile on his face, the other two wearing straight, serious looks. Derick whistled as the floors passed by. They finally arrived at the Dark Floor—the 31st floor.
Like the name suggested, everywhere on that floor was dark, cold, calm, and empty. It was the room for tough business.
Derick had a feeling—a cold one that caused the warmth in him to wither away. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought:
Why do I have the feeling that I'm in trouble?
Timothy, who stood by his right side, stretched his hand toward a much darker room.
"That's where we need you," he said.
Derick replied with a suspicious look. "Uh… okay."
Raymond walked ahead of them, intent on opening the doors. He clapped his hands, and light filled the room. A table with two chairs on opposite sides came into view. Raymond leaned against the wall while the other two walked in.
"Sit," Timothy urged.
Derick's face was painted with suspicion, but a part of him still felt nothing bad might be happening. It almost seemed like a test of resilience.
Timothy smirked. "My partner earlier was trying to give clarity on what you misunderstood from what I told you before. So let me clue you in: this isn't an application, nor is it recruitment. This… is an interrogation."
Derick chuckled and let out a short laugh. His tone changed.
"I played along just to see what the outcome would be—and it's the dumbest thing ever. Interrogate me? For what crime? If you think I'll make this easy for you guys, then you must be clowns."
Timothy grinned, his tone shifting to seriousness.
"You know when we met at your home, I said we shouldn't resort to violence. But let me tell you—I'm an advocate for violence. All this chit-chat? That's not me. The real me throws hands. If that's what you want, I'll gladly give it to you."
Derick snarled. "Oh, tough guy. You think everyone will fall for your good-cop, bad-cop routine? Well, I won't."
Behind Derick was a glass wall—a barricade that covered another room. Inside were two occupants: Layla and Jonathan. They stood silently, watching the clash unfold.
"Mr. Derick, we don't have time. We just need you here," Raymond said. "The guy who caused the incident the other day… he's not the true perpetrator."
Derick tilted his head. He wasn't going to just accept what he heard.
These guys also believe that fucker.
Out loud, he said, "You guys are the highest power, and just because a deranged person said he isn't—or rather, doesn't know anything about the case—you call him innocent?"
Timothy stepped forward, his expression sharpening.
"I've been in this game longer than anyone in this city. I've read men. I've understood men. I know when a lie is being told, and I know when the truth is being said. Leonard knows nothing of what happened."
Derick's expression hardened. Confusion swayed him.
"So you're telling me someone else is behind this? Someone else risked the lives of little kids?"
"Yes," Timothy answered.
Derick yelled, rage flashing in his eyes. "Then why haven't you caught the fucker?"
"Because we don't know how," Raymond retorted. "That's why we need you."
"Me? Why me? You don't think I did it, do you?" Derick asked.
Timothy shook his head, his tone serious. "No—you didn't. But you might have met the person."
"So how do you plan to catch them?" Derick pressed.
Timothy rose from his seat and turned to leave. "That's still in the planning. We just need you here."
As Timothy and Raymond were about to exit the room, Derick called out, "Wait. You don't know who or where the person is, but if I might've come in contact with them… then I want to help catch the perpetrator."
Timothy's eyes lit up, as though he'd been waiting for those exact words.
"How can you be of help to us?" he asked.
Derick's voice hardened with grit.
"I'll be bait."