The car slowed down even as Negan took his foot off the gas, causing the chugging sounds to dull into a rumble. Kyrie, with eyes straight ahead, felt the shift in the atmosphere within the car and definitely in Negan.
Three figures stood at the point where the narrow street met a wider one.
Two wore the dark blue coats of Strian Marshals, copper buttons gave off dull glints in the dying afternoon light. The third wore the same uniform, but with an orange armband on their left sleeve.
Kyrie's eyes followed the individuals, and his memory stirred at the sight of the third individual, his lips parting seemingly ahead of his memories.
" Sentinel "
"Checkpoint," Negan said quietly, his voice free of its usual humor. "Stay calm. Answer if they ask you something directly. Don't add any extras ." He glanced sideways, and for just a moment, Kyrie saw something in his eyes, it wasn't fear exactly, it was a cold calculation.
"Also, keep those goggles down."
Kyrie listened attentively and acted immediately, pulling down his goggles over crimson slitted eyes, turning his vision into an amber tint. The car finally came to a halt mere metres before the Marshals.
One of the Marshals, a man with a thick mustache and tired eyes, approached Negan's side of the car. The other, younger and clean-shaven, found his way to Kyrie's window.
Both carried batons at their belts. Both looked like they'd rather be anywhere else right now, a feeling of laziness that reduced the tension of the situation altogether.
"Evening, gentlemen," the mustached Marshal said, leaning down just enough to look into the car. "Routine checkpoint. Identification, please."
Negan calmly reached into his coat, retrieving a folded leather wallet. He handed over a card without a comment.
The Marshal studied it, eyebrows rising slightly. "Mr. Cross." He handed it back with something that hinted at respect. "Business or pleasure this evening?" He attempted small talk.
"Bit of both," Negan replied smoothly. "Taking my associate here to dinner. Long day."
The Marshal's gaze shifted to Kyrie. "And you, sir? Any identification?"
Kyrie's heart spiked up a notch, but his hands were quite steady as he reached for his own wallet. Kyrie's wallet. He had noticed it in the inner pocket of the coat.
He pulled out the identification card and passed it through the window while he looked at the name on it, he was a bit surprised, but he had no visible reaction to read.
The younger Marshal took it, glanced at it, then at Kyrie's face. "Kyrie Ashford." He squinted. "You feeling alright, Mr. Ashford? You look... quite pale."
"Hospital discharge," Kyrie said, keeping his voice even and low, playing the part. "Still recovering."
The Marshal nodded, satisfied as he handed the card back. "Take it easy, Strevus can be rough on a man who's not feeling his best."
"Appreciate the concern," Kyrie replied, keeping it smooth.
As the younger marshal stepped back, Kyrie activated his Skill: Empath Sense. It came easier now than it had with Lois. He focused on the mustached Marshal first.
There was boredom, Soul-wrecking boredom.The kind that came from standing at checkpoints for hours, asking the same questions, seeing familiar faces. There was also fatigue. The man wanted to go home. Needed a drink. Wanted his shift to end already.
There was no suspicion. Nor hostility, just exhaustion.
[Daily Quest Progress: 2/5]
Kyrie shifted his focus to the younger Marshal.
Nervousness. Not about them specifically, but everything in general. He deduced this one was still new on the job, still unsure.
He was not yet comfortable with the authority he wore. And beneath that nervousness: discomfort. His eyes kept flicking toward the third individual with something that looked like unease.
Fear? Maybe. But definitely not trust.
[Daily Quest Progress: 3/5]
Kyrie soon let empath Sense fade into the background as his attention shifted to the source of the younger Marshal's unease.
The Sentinel had been standing back, watching closely, but now they moved forward. Up close, Kyrie could see they were younger than he'd thought. Probably in her later twenties. Possessing sharp features, white hair arranged into a bun, eyes that pierced just like Negan's.
The Orange armband marked them as government-approved. A psion serving the system.
"Everything in order?" the Sentinel asked, their voice soft but carrying a hint of authority that made both marshals adjust themselves.
"Yes,ma'am," the mustached marshal quickly answered, "Just normal checks."
The Sentinel's eyes brushed along the car's interior, remaining on Kyrie for a split second too long but not enough to make him too uncomfortable. She soon leaned down, peering through Negan's window this time.
"Mr. Cross," she said, and there was recognition in her tone, " It's been a while."
Negan's expression remained the same."Sentinel Lowe." He raised his head slightly. "Didn't expect to see you on checkpoint duty."
"Reassignment," Lowe said flatly. "Apparently, I'm more useful here." Her eyes flicked to Kyrie again. "Your associate. He's...?"
"Hospital discharge," Negan cut in before Kyrie could answer. "Needs rest and a decent meal. Going to our spot."
Lowe's gaze held on Kyrie for another moment, and Kyrie did feel the weight this time, like he had been suspected of something but she couldn't prove it yet.
Then the Sentinel straightened up again.
"Be safe " Lowe said, stepping back, giving way as another car was arriving at that moment.
Kyrie felt this was his chance. Ever carefully, he reached out with Empath Sense toward the Sentinel.
A wave of emotions hit him harder than he expected.
There was!
Exhaustion. Not the boredom of the marshals, but something more profound, Soul-deep weariness that came from fighting battles that seem to have no noticeable end.
Resentment. A growing anger beneath the calm mask. Not at them specifically, but at everything. The system. The uniform. The Orange armband.
Loneliness. Profound, tiring isolation. The kind that came from being neither being trusted nor understood. One that affected meaningful connections.
Underneath everything was Fear!
The fear of making a mistake. Fear of being discovered. Fear of the very people they were sworn to protect turning on them. Fear of ending up like the "rogue" psions they were trained to hunt.
[ Daily Quest Progress: 4/5]
Kyrie turned off Empath sense, gasping softly. His temples hammered, sharper than before. Four times in one day. He was pushing his limits for sure.
Negan didn't speak as he guided the car forward, past the checkpoint and into the wider street ahead. The Marshals moved towards the other approaching car. Lowe glanced at them only for a moment.
They made three corners before Negan finally spoke while Kyrie reached for his goggles, lifting it to once again reveal his crimson eyes.
"You could felt it, couldn't you?"
Kyrie glanced at him, surprised. "Feel what?"
"Don't play dumb, K-Y." Negan's eyes stayed on the road, but his tone was knowing.
"You used your ability on them, didn't you? "
Kyrie hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I did."
"And?"
"The Marshals were just tired. Bored. But the Sentinel..." Kyrie paused, looking for the right words. "She wasn't what I expected." He concluded.
"No one ever is." Negan's expression was blank. "Sentinels are psions who made a choice to serve the system rather than hide from it."
"Most regret it within a few months." He continued while turning the wheel again, guiding them onto a street where the gas lamps were slowly coming to life.
"They're not your enemy, K-Y. But they're not your ally either. They're trapped, just like most."
"Lowe knew you," Kyrie said, cutting in.
"Old life," Negan replied flatly, not going any further hinting he didn't wanna talk about it.
Kyrie didn't push; he was smart enough to pick the hint. But the question still lingered
*What exactly was Negan's "old life"?*
The light was dimming now, the amber glow of afternoon giving way to the cooler and dusk tones of early evening.
The city's atmosphere shifted with the changing light. Shops were about closing. Taverns were opening their doors. The streets growing louder with the shift changes, with day workers heading home and the night owls heading out.
Kyrie slowly rubbed his forehead, still feeling the aftermath of using his powers consecutively.
"You alright?" Negan asked. He noticed the gesture.
"Just a bit dull from using my abilities, it takes quite a bit out of me, and the hunger is definitely not helping."
"Good," Negan said.
Kyrie blinked. "Good?"
"Means you know your limits. That'll keep you alive longer than you know." Negan's smirk returned, though it was softer now. "Now, let's get some food in you and at least solve one of those problems. There's a place up ahead, I'm certain you'll like it."
"Do they know you, too?" Kyrie asked, there was definitely amusement in his tone.
"Everyone knows me," Negan answered confidently, "Part of the Cross charm." He joked subtly flaunting the fake alias.
Kyrie smiled, knowing that the alias was fake or at least that's what his memories told him.
He still wanted to know more about Negan and himself, but was still hesitant about using Empath sense on the man; something kept discouraging his curiosity.
The car turned onto another street, and ahead, Kyrie could see warm light pouring out from the windows of a building. A sign hung above the door, but he was still too far to see it clearly.
His stomach growled loudly.
"Almost there," Negan said.
Kyrie watched the building draw closer; the promise of food made him salivate unconsciously. Behind them, the checkpoint was now only a memory.
Sentinel Lowe's exhausted eyes, the marshal's weary faces, the weight of a system that trapped everyone in their own way.
He'd survived the checkpoint. Learned something about how Stria really worked. About how even those who served the system were prisoners of it.
But somehow, he knew that was only the beginning.
The gas lamps flickered brighter as evening settled over Strevus, and Kyrie's first day in the city, his first real day, continued, as the dark hoped to shape its own part of the story.