I posted a tik tok (account is @ lancaligotbanned) of the parallels characters reacting to the "i think there's a spark between us" trend, just thought it'd be cute <3
Yin
11 years ago
I've never liked interrogations. I never thought I'd ever have to sit in on them. But favors are favors and the hero commission loves to cash those in. More than once, I've been dragged into a case, a hearing, an interrogation where a child is involved.
More times than not, the only reason said child isn't cooperating is because the police officers approach them with a goal in mind. Their motive is transparent. They bribe with water, food, and make false promises. They're eager for an answer, a result. Children are sensitive. Not in a damaged sort of way. In an intelligent way that seems to fade with adulthood. They pick up on tone, on reason, and more than anything, they know when they're being used.
Sit down with them. Ask them what happened, where they're from, how they're feeling. Not for a result. Because you care. Because they're a person, not a footnote in a police report. All my interrogations have been successful. But I hate calling them that. There was no coercion. There was no lying.
I was doing my job. I'm good at it.
Granted, I haven't been called in on one in a while. I'm a professional to a point and when you cross that line, I may as well be a raging sixteen-year-old again.
There were two little boys. Twins. Their quirk was connected, worked across a medium, a connection. It didn't come to fruition till they were older– six-year-olds. Whenever they were separated from their school, they threw tantrums, didn't want to be apart. Their school marked them as troublesome. Every piece of paper on them basically defined them as uncontrollable kids. That made their interrogators less friendly after they caused the deaths of their teacher and the entire class.
The school kept on trying to separate them. Their quirk was like magnesis. No one could seem to grasp that soulmates aren't always friendships or romantic love or anything of the sort. Sometimes soulmates are born together. Their quirk came around during one of their fits. Like a flashing light, a zap across the air that annihilated all the space between the twins and anyone between them.
You can understand why that struck home. I talked to both of them. They refused to talk to anyone else. I told them when I was little, I had a brother that I loved just like they loved each other. I earned their trust little by little. I gave them rooms at my agency and taught them how to control the power in their bodies. But that wasn't enough for the people working the case. The parents of the children who were lost, the school's board, they wanted retribution, answers, something to bring balance to their mourning.
I told them the truth. I told them there is no bringing equilibrium to tragedy. That punishing children for what they can't control, nor what they meant to do is a cruelty we banished when the commission was reformed.
You can imagine that not many were happy with my statement. I didn't care. Those kids were under my protection. So when the prosecutor in charge of sentencing suggested with a wry look on his face that those boys deserved to be in an adult prison, I did what any sane woman would do.
I broke his jaw.
And my hand. But it felt good. Some faded memory of my teenage self came alive. I flipped my hair out of my face, smirking past the pain in my knuckles as the lawyer tried to talk through the blood pooling in his mouth.
I wish I could give you some deep, reflective line about how what I did was wrong for a variety of reasons, but I don't. It's simple. If someone is daring you to swing and puts their face on display, you fucking swing.
