Shattered Illusions

The cold light of the interrogation room cast sharp, clinical shadows on the stark metal table. Peter sat across from Dunning, his posture tense but composed—the calm before the storm. Dunning, bound by zip ties at the wrists, leaned back in his chair, his slouched figure giving the impression that he felt at ease. But the shimmering sweat on his temples betrayed the truth serum taking deeper hold over his body. It was working, unraveling the walls he had desperately tried to keep intact.

Peter’s penetrating eyes scanned the man before him, dissecting every twitch, every muscle in his face, every subtle stammer that the serum teased out. For Peter, this was routine—a game he had played countless times, always in control. Until now. Peter broke the silence first, his voice steady, almost casual.

“What’s your full name, rank, and division?”

Dunning blinked a few times, his resistance to the drug faltering. His muscles twitched as the truth serum bore its way into his system. Finally, he answered in a low voice, flat and automatic.

“Sergeant Kyle Dunning; Catonsville PD, Homicide Division.”

Peter nodded, leaning slightly forward. He kept his initial questions neutral—nothing too pointed just yet.

“You’ve been trailing me. Why?”

Dunning’s lips parted slightly, his breathing shallow. He hesitated just enough for Peter to know something important was coming. Then, he answered, his tone clipped and mechanical:

“You wouldn’t understand. My reasons are…personal.”

Peter straightened almost imperceptibly in his chair, his eyes narrowing. His voice dropped slightly, laced with intrigue.

“Personal?” He tilted his head, his calm demeanor masking a storm of curiosity.

“Go on. What issues could I have possibly caused that are... personal?”

Dunning hesitated again, his jaw tightening as though some instinctive part of him still fought against the effects of the serum. When he finally opened his mouth, the words came out slow, deliberate, and shaky all at once:

“Betty Sheridan.”

It took half a second for the name to register with Peter. His cool, detached expression faltered—not by much, but just enough for anyone watching closely to detect. His fingers curled slightly against the table, his voice hardening.

“What about Betty Sheridan?”

Dunning’s dazed eyes locked onto Peter’s, and a tiny, humorless smirk crossed his lips. He spoke with audible bitterness. His expression darkened.

“Her real name is Betty Sheridan-DUNNING. She’s my WIFE.”

The air in the room seemed to grow colder. Peter flinched, the blood draining from his face. His voice, now tinged with sharp incredulity, escaped in a low hiss.

“Your WIFE? No! Betty told me that she was divorced.”

Dunning leaned forward slightly, his smirk growing despite the strained tension of the serum coursing through him.

“The divorce was never finalized.”

He exhaled slowly, the bitter taste of his words heavy with accusation.

“We were trying to work things out. That is, until YOU came along.”

Peter’s jaw tightened as he leaned forward, his tone sharper.

“Let me get this straight—you went through all this trouble, jeopardized yourself and your department, STALKED me during a critical mission that could have blown up in our faces, all because of some unresolved DOMESTIC ISSUE?”

Peter scoffed, shaking his head with barely masked frustration.

“That’s... pathetic.” Dunning’s smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of anger. He snapped, his voice rising, cracking through his restraint.

“You think this is just about THAT? That’s a minor issue compared to the REAL reason I’ve been tracking you.”

Peter’s piercing gaze bore into Dunning. His fingers uncurled, the intensity in his voice dropping into an unnerving calm.

“Then what IS the real reason?” Dunning’s eyes were slightly glazed, but the anger in his voice grew sharper, more focused with every word.

“My SON.”

Those two words hit Peter like a punch to the gut, though he kept his expression as unreadable as possible. He leaned forward slowly, his calm composure starting to crack.

“Your SON?” he repeated, voice rasping with sudden tension.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Dunning gritted his teeth, his pupils dilating as the serum forced him to continue despite his pride's resistance.

“You took my son away from me twelve years ago.”

Peter froze. His world tilted on its axis as he processed the confession. Twelve years ago? He staggered mentally through his memories, grasping for an explanation. It couldn’t be—could it? Charlie!

Like a hammer to his chest, the realization struck with brutal force. For the first time in years, Peter felt utterly out of control. His usually sharp mind, trained to handle crises with precision, felt clouded and foggy. He rose from the chair slowly, staggering backwards. His legs felt weak, his balance unsteady. Everything in him screamed to demand more, to dig deeper, but the shock forced him silent.

Dunning saw the look on Peter’s face and, for the first time, allowed himself a small, victorious smile. His voice dripped with mockery.

“Was it something I said?” he asked smugly, his tone oozing sarcasm.

Peter didn’t respond. His breaths quickened as if the very air of the room had constricted around him. He turned abruptly, leaving the room on shaky legs, his mind too chaotic to process anything. As the heavy door sealed behind him, his body felt like it might give out. The moment Peter emerged from the interrogation room, the team in the command center immediately noticed something was wrong. His usually commanding presence was replaced by an uncharacteristic fragility—his shoulders hunched, his steps uneven, his face pale. Everyone stopped what they were doing, their attention drawn to the man they always looked to for leadership. Paul was the first to rush forward. His voice was heavy with concern as he placed a steadying hand on Peter’s shoulder, which barely elicited a response.

“Peter, you okay?”

Peter’s lips moved, but the words didn’t form properly. He stared ahead blankly as if in a trance. His body swayed, threatening to collapse. Ruby’s small but fierce voice broke through the gathering crowd. Her wide green eyes were filled with worry.

“Uncle P? What’s wrong?”

Peter didn’t answer. Chris, ever the problem-solver, stepped to the side and barked orders to two nearby soldiers.

“Pick him up now! Get him to the medical bay! GO!”

The soldiers didn’t hesitate. Moving swiftly, they grabbed Peter under the arms and hoisted him up as Peter’s knees gave out beneath him. He faintly muttered something incomprehensible as his head lolled forward. His body hung limply in their grasp. Charlie broke through the circle of people, panic etched into his face. He knelt beside Peter, grabbing his hand.

“Dad, talk to me! Dad!”

Paul and Colonel Zeke joined them as the soldiers carried a barely conscious Peter out of the room toward the medical area. Henry, with his usual stoic demeanor, followed, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might snap. Ruby stood frozen for a moment, her fists balled at her sides. Fear twisted her stomach, but anger soon bubbled to the surface. She stared toward the interrogation room. Her gut told her that whatever broke Peter—a man who had faced countless life-or-death scenarios without flinching—was tied to the man inside. Her anger surged like wildfire, consuming her rationality. She spoke through gritted teeth, her voice trembling.

“I bet that pig had something to do with this.”

Candy, standing nervously beside her, placed a hand on Ruby’s arm.

“Ruby, Mr. Peter is strong. He’ll be okay.”

Ruby barely registered Candy’s words. Her eyes remained locked on the door of the interrogation room. Her mind culminated in one thought that blazed louder and louder: _I'll make him pay_. Without a word, Ruby stormed over to a nearby soldier and snatched the stun gun clipped to his belt.

“Hey!” the soldier yelled.

“Ma'am, you shouldn’t play with that!” She didn’t slow down. Her small frame moved with startling determination, leaving Chris, Candy, Major Amma, Jenny, and Mangino scrambling to stop her. Chris shouted after her.

“Ruby! STOP!”

Jenny shouted with urgency and desperation.

“Ruby please!”

Ruby ignored them all. Her pace quickened, her hand gripping the stun gun tightly. Her breathing was shallow, furious. The pain in Peter’s face haunted her, fueling her purpose. She reached the door to the interrogation room, slipped inside, and slammed it shut behind her. Before anyone from the group could intervene, Ruby turned toward the control panel and placed her palm against it. She closed her eyes, letting her prodigious knowledge of living mathematics flow through her mind. Numbers surged like electric energy, reshaping the digital locks on the door. A brief shimmer of blue light passed over it. When Chris reached the door and tried the handle, it was sealed tight.

Ruby turned towards Dunning, who was leaning back in the chair. Upon seeing her, his lips curled into an amused grin.

“Well, well,” he drawled, eyeing her small frame.

“Did they send the Girl Scouts to finish the interrogation? What’s the matter, kid? Daddy not doing so hot?”

Ruby didn’t answer. Her small frame moved forward with slow, deliberate steps. The stun gun gleamed in her hand. Her green eyes burned cold fire. Dunning snickered.

“Cute toy. What are you going to do? Zap me into telling you the plot twist?”

Ruby’s lips curled into a humorless smile as she raised the stun gun, its crackling blue energy punctuating the silence. She replied with a sharp, chilling tone.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll guarantee you’ll scream out the ending.”

For the first time in the entire interrogation, Dunning’s smirk wavered.