“What were you doing last night?” asked Ripley, his broad grin a twisted snarl of jagged yellow teeth. Naser glanced over his shoulder through the archway that led to the kitchen. There was no sign of Anon, only the cereal box he had been rummaging through, abandoned on the counter-top. “Are you okay, son? You’ve gone pale.” “Dad, sir. It’s nothing.” Naser replied, his heart pounding. He felt like he was going to be sick. His mind raced as he tried to come up with a plausible lie. “I just don't… feel well. I have a stress-induced peptic ulcer.” “Is that a fact?” “Work is getting to me; I’ve been sick since last night.” “Aha, sorry to hear that.” “I couldn't sleep, so I went to the city to pick up some calcium carbonate from a pharmacy. For my stomach.” It sounded plausible enough to Naser. “I see.” “Yes…” They stood there in silence, staring at each other through the doorway. “Are you going to invite your old man in, or will you make us stand here all afternoon like a couple of morons?” “Yes. Sorry, please come in.” Naser moved aside. Ripley lumbered through the door, a leather briefcase in hand. The shoulder pads of his police chief uniform scraped against both sides of the door frame as he entered. “May I take your jacket, sir?” Naser closed the door. “That would be very fine of you. How are things between you and the mother of my grandchildren?” "She's not ready to move back in yet, but we've been talking on the phone," Naser said, grateful for the change of subject. He busied himself with Ripley's jacket as he spoke. "We've made a lot of progress, I think, with the help of the marriage counselor you arranged for us." “Your mother misses her dearly, her and the children.” “I miss them, too,” Naser said without conviction. “I’ll bring her and the kids over for a visit once things blow over.” “Good boy. Your mother would love that.” “How is Mom these days?” “Still lonely. I worry about her alone in an empty nest while I’m at work. Please mention that to your wife next time you speak with her; having children to babysit would make Samantha very happy." “Can I get you anything to drink?” Naser asked, hanging Ripley’s coat on a stand by the door. “A hot cup of green tea would be lovely. My assistant put me on to it, and I’ve found it to be to my liking. Do you have any?” “Naomi keeps some in the pantry.” “Make me one, and we will get this unpleasant business over with.” They walked to the kitchen side by side, Ripley’s claw squeezing Naser’s shoulder. *** “I stopped at your clinic on the way to the press conference,” said Ripley, settling into the bar-stool Anon had been sitting on earlier. He placed his briefcase on the kitchen counter. “I spoke to Natasha, your receptionist. A very high-strung woman. She said you hadn’t been in all morning and weren’t answering calls.” Naser clinked through kitchen cabinets. “I was asleep. It was a struggle to get out of bed, let alone answer the door.” Ripley looked over at the open cereal box Anon had left on the counter. “Did you have visitors last night?” “No, I was too unwell to have anyone over.” “Of course.” Naser opened the pantry door and turned on the light. Anon was huddled under a shelf in the furthest corner of the butler's pantry with his knees pulled to his chest. He stared at Naser with the wide-eyed, panicked expression of a trapped animal. “Ah, decaf or regular green tea?” Naser called out, unable to take his eyes off Anon. “Regular!” shouted Ripley. He retrieved a labelled jar from a shelf and backed out of the pantry, Anon watching him go. Naser turned off the light and closed the door. “You may be wondering why I came by today,” said Ripley. He took a manila folder from his briefcase and spread it on the counter. “The thought had crossed my mind, sir.” “It will be abundantly clear very soon. Last night at around twenty-three hundred, two police officers were murdered, and their vehicle set alight in the Little Troodon deadzone while conducting their duties.” Riley tapped at two police academy photos of a young allosaurus and an older trachodon. “Their names were Sergeant Williams and Corporal Sanchez. You would have heard all about it if you had watched the morning news. They were transporting a prisoner between stations when a stolen mail truck collided with their vehicle at an intersection along their route. A preliminary autopsy indicates that Williams had died instantly from a headshot wound. Sanchez was not as lucky; we believe he was conscious when he burned to death.” Naser recalled the photo he had seen on Fang’s phone and shuddered. He placed a steaming cup of green tea beside Ripley. “Who was the prisoner? Were they anyone important?” “No one of consequence, just a stray the Nats had picked up for disposal.” Ripley sipped the scalding leaf juice. “Disposal?” “Yes, as in relocation.” “I see.” “The fire was well underway when emergency vehicles arrived forty-five minutes after the incident. Police checkpoints were established on major routes out of the city as part of a broader effort to capture the assailants. Orders were to stop, search and interrogate all traffic leaving Volcadera with one exception; first responders were allowed free passage following a plate check. Having reviewed the list of first responders to pass through our checkpoints last night, we discovered a peculiar anomaly.” Ripley leafed through sheets of paper held together by a bulldog clip and laid them down on the counter facing Naser. He pointed to a row of text highlighted in yellow marker. Against a timestamp, Naser read his name and his 2032 Ptergeot Electric registration number. “I find it very interesting that your luxury sedan is listed in our database as a first-response vehicle. Do you have any idea why that may be?” Ripley glared at Naser. Naser picked up the papers and inspected them closely. So that’s why they let us through, he thought. “I have no idea. I haven’t worked in a first responder capacity in years and never under that registration.” “Given that you were previously listed as a first responder and that the DMV's database overlaps with our own, the possibility of a clerical error entering the record cannot be fully dismissed,” stated Ripley, scratching his chin. “However, the Volcadera police data servers have had a number of security breaches within the previous week. Perhaps it is merely a coincidence that this error would come to our attention in the follow-up of a major incident. Who knows. Taking into account the broader context, the possibility of doctored records cannot be readily excused.” Ripley poured the remaining green tea down his throat and blew steam from his nostrils. “There you have it. In light of all that I’ve told you, I’ll ask you again. What were you doing last night?” “I was sick with-” Ripley slammed his hands against the counter with a loud thwack that made the tea cup rattle. “Why are you lying to me?” bellowed Ripley, his eyes locked on Naser's. “You've been lying to me since the second you opened your door, and you did have people in your house last night; I can smell them. They're still here.” Naser froze. “Sir, I'm not-” “My men are outside waiting for my command to turn over everything you own. Per the Police Entitlement Act of 2025, they can keep anything they can carry that isn't designated as evidence. That includes jewelry, heirlooms, anything you or your wife value. And if they, heaven forbid, find anyone or anything of interest in their search, the resulting interrogation will make what you saw at the checkpoint look like a pleasant night out in comparison. Do you understand?” “I… Understand.” Ripley sighed, his demeanour shifting from outrage to paternalistic concern. “Naser, son. You have never lied to me before. You have grown into a fine and respected man of whom I am very proud. I can help you. I can protect you. If anyone or anything is threatening you or your family, I can take care of it. Please, all you have to do is tell me the truth.” “Dad, I…” Why not tell the truth? Naser asked himself. It’s not like he had any other option. Maybe Dad will make sure the judge is lenient on Fang; she is his offspring, after all, even if estranged. Life in prison instead of a death sentence. A miserable existence or not, a life is a life. Anon, on the other hand… “Dad, the truth is…” Anon, beaten to death by cops in a sub-basement jail cell. “I’ve been cheating on Naomi.” “What?” exclaimed Ripley, rocking back on the bar-stool. “Last night, I wasn’t in town for medicine. I was there to collect my lover and their boyfriend. We were spending the night together and-” “Stop! I don’t need to know.” Ripley waved his arms out as if warding off an evil spirit. He was standing now, pacing up and down the kitchen. “We were with each other all night and morning. I lost track of time and-” “I said stop! Do you comprehend what this would mean for your reputation if it got out? What it would mean for my reputation?” said Ripley, struggling to keep his voice down. A vein throbbed on his neck, and his wings trembled with barely contained rage. “After years of sacrifice to be where I am today, what I had to do to keep you in medical school while society collapsed around us, you risk wasting it all to cheat on your wife?!” Ripley stopped pacing and swung around to face Naser. “Is that the real reason why she moved out? Does she know?” Naser shook his head. “No.” “Thank fuck for small blessings. Alright, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to leave and pretend I heard nothing. You’re going to get rid of your guests and end your selfish, debauched affair as quietly as you can. It would break your mother's heart if she learned about this.” Ripley stuffed the documents into the briefcase and clicked it shut with a firm snap. He headed for the exit, Naser trailing after him. “Call me if they try to blackmail you.” He grabbed his coat from the stand and turned the door knob. “Get your house in order, or I'll do it for you. I raised you better than this.” He stepped outside. “It’s a dead end, boys! Get the motors warmed up; we’re leaving.” Ripley shouted to the officers milling around the parked cavalcade. He turned to Naser. “Son. I am very disappointed in you, so much that it hurts to even look at you. Think about your wife and children and what it would mean for them if your perversion were made public." He looked away and spat on a nearby potted plant. “Absolutely thoughtless." *** Naser watched from the door as the police cars left his property until they disappeared from view. He closed the door and pressed his ear against its hardwood surface, listening to their engines fade away until they were no longer audible. He rested his back against the door and gripped his shoulders, sliding slowly down to the ground as he processed what had happened and how close he had been to telling Dad everything. Anon’s head popped out from the pantry. “Is he gone?” He asked in a loud, desperate whisper. “Yes, Anon, he's gone,” Naser said, looking at his trembling hands. Anon let out a sigh of relief and lay down on the floor. “I don't know how much more I can take. I feel like I'm going crazy." “Yeah,” agreed Naser, “I know what you mean.” The doorbell chimed. Terror seized Naser's heart as he got to his feet, his legs unsteady beneath him. Anon retreated back into the pantry, his head disappearing from view. Naser hesitated for a moment to muster courage, and opened the door. A diminutive microraptor peeped at him from behind a relatively large box, a tiny electric scooter behind her. “Er, hello?” She said in a squeaky voice. “I have a delivery from Caldera Bay Pharmaceuticals for Doctor Aaron?" *** “I forgot all about the delivery; I almost shat myself,” muttered Anon. He watched from the bedroom doorway as Naser hooked bags of intravenous antibiotics and penicillin onto the IV stand. Fang slept soundly in the same position Naser had left her. “You’re not the only one.” “Ripley used to scare the shit out of me. Doesn’t look like he’s changed much; he’s still a terrifying asshole.” “Dad is not that bad,” said Naser, adjusting the IV pump settings. “He means well.” “He’s controlling! I heard everything you two were saying. Did he really organize a marriage counselor for you and Naomi?” “Yes, and there is nothing wrong with that.” “Dude, I think that’s kind of weird.” “Not like I was asking for your opinion.” Naser tucked the duvet under Fang’s snoot and brushed the hair off her face. “He’s just trying his best for his family.” Anon sat on the corner of the TV cabinet, resting his hands on his knees. “Why did you marry Naomi, anyway? You didn’t seem that into her in school, it was like you tolerated her more than anything else.” Naser shrugged. “She followed me across the country after we graduated high school to study at the same college. Over time I got used to her being around, and I could tell she really wanted me to propose. In the end, I thought why not? Let’s get it out of the way.” “Did Naomi tell you how she set me up with Fang back in high school? She had this ass-backward master plan to fix Fang by getting her a boyfriend.” Naser massaged his forehead. “Yes, Fang had told me about how my bitch girlfriend was interfering with her life.” “And you didn’t break up with Naomi over it?” “I did. I was upset, but Naomi kept apologizing, bringing over little gifts and sucking up to Mom and Dad. We were back together by the time we graduated from Volcano High.” “Fang must have been pissed when you guys started dating again.” “I don’t think she knew. I didn’t see much of Fang after she dropped out of high school. Sometimes she would swing by to grab something from her room, but that was about it.” They both glanced over at Fang. She snored gently, her beak partially open. “I wonder where she’s been all this time,” Naser said. “Did you notice some of the scars on her arms and legs, the way they overlap her tattoos? A couple on her abdomen, too. I don’t think those were self-inflicted.” “Yeah, I noticed.” “She should have stayed home with Mom and Dad. She could have come home any time.” “There’s no way she’d have stuck around; she didn’t get along with Ripley. It would have been like me trying to stay with my parents; it’d have driven her nuts! Besides, I don’t know what life was like for you during the first year of the meteor, but I can tell you, shit was fucked. She could have been a county over and there still would have been no way for her to get back.” Anon ticked off his fingers, “public transport was shot, the highways were in gridlock, flights were grounded, and if she did try to walk it, she would have fucking died from starvation or killed by bandits.” “I guess so,” murmured Naser, reflecting upon his own limited experience of the year the Earth had been shrouded in darkness. For him, that year was a comfy dorm, three meals a day, and a view of the world from the narrow lens of a tattered internet. “Let me tell you something,” Anon said, a grin on his face, “I’m glad she was asleep when your dad was here. It would have been a real shit-storm if she were awake. She would have hobbled out of the bedroom with the gun and tried to shoot him.” He did a finger gun pose, trying to look like an old West gunslinger. “Die, copper!” Naser frowned. “Not funny, and I’m certain she would have had more sense than to do that.” “Yeah, you're right.” Anon holstered his finger gun. “You should lighten up, Naser. Life's dark enough as it is without taking everything seriously.” “Whatever you say, Anon.” “I thought we were screwed when your dad was at the door; you're a terrible liar! Holy shit, ‘I have a stress-induced peptic ulcer,’” Anon said, impersonating Naser. “Fucking really?” “Hey, c’mon!” Naser protested. “I'm sorry, Naser. I shouldn't give you too much crap; you got us out of it in the end. The stuff about cheating on Naomi and having a lover over for the night was pretty convincing; your dad bought it wholesale. I didn’t think you had it in you.” “Well…” Naser inhaled through his teeth. “The things I said about picking up my lover and her boyfriend last night, that was obviously a lie. The rest, about cheating on Naomi…” Naser toyed with the wedding ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. “That was true.”