Meyer felt he needed to escape the police interrogation. He had always hated being questioned. "Did you finish the candies?" or "Were those your shoes?" or "Did you squeeze too much sauce?"—he had heard enough of those growing up. In a world where you couldn't even enjoy a bowl of pasta or a piece of candy, what had happened to him now seemed almost... ordinary.
He glanced at the bar tables, the windows, and the muted TV turned down by the bar owner's sexy-shirted, amber-eyed son. Back in the day, especially when he had first gotten his ID card, he had desperately wanted to get caught by the police. That urge had stemmed from a desire to grow up, to challenge authority, to become the center of attention. Of course, back then he was a fresh-faced kid with a brand-new ID. An innocent child. Naturally, the police couldn't touch him unless he stumbled upon a corpse or something.
And suddenly—bam—it hit him.
There was a corpse now. A young woman's corpse. Grace Huyger's corpse. A tingling sensation crawled across his skin. In a flash, he remembered: he was sixty-four years old. His appearance didn't match—he looked no older than thirty. Still, his inner voice whispered, "You've lived through sixty-four years." Like Captain America emerging from ice. And he knew better than anyone: the best transitions always happened within him.
Then he saw the approaching officer—long nose, avant-garde suit.
"Let's see some ID!" the officer commanded.
Meyer echoed the command in his mind, a nervous pulse forming in his chest as he dug through his pockets. The odds of his ID being in there? Zero. Zilch. As he rummaged, the officer's gaze locked completely on Meyer's striped jeans. The longer that awkward look lasted, the less likely his ID would magically appear. Meyer knew this. And yet, he couldn't just say whatever. Was he really about to go to the station with these officers who looked more like members of a trendy music band?
"S-sorry. I don't have any ID," Meyer said, and as he felt his back curve like an old man's hump, he quickly straightened his posture.
The officer looked at the man daring to stand tall before him. In front of the police, the smart move was always to kneel, lower your head, even slouch a little. This guy wasn't giving off a good impression.
"No ID means you're coming with us to the station," the officer said. Meyer nodded.
"Of course, sir."
The place had emptied out. Meyer realized he was alone with the dark-browed officer. Behind him stood another cop—over two meters tall—chewing his gum like it was eternal.
Meyer wondered how the hell he was going to escape these guys.
Then something inside him shouted, "Wait a minute!"
"Why am I acting scared, like I left the body there? I'll go with them. At least I'll learn how the system works. As long as I don't end up in a cell, this could be interesting."
"Is—Is this a drug bust?" Meyer asked nervously as the officer shoved him toward the exit.
"Drugs are legal, didn't you know? How old are you anyway?"
"Sixty-four," Meyer replied.
"What?" the cop blinked at the man who looked no older than twenty-five. "No way you're over thirty. What's your name?"
"Steve Meyer."
"Huh... Steve Meyer. That name rings a bell. You ever get hospitalized after some major accident?"
Meyer froze. Caught off guard. "Yeah… I was stabbed by a swarm of spiders. I thought I died, but then I woke up."
"That's it! Now I remember. My grandmother was in the adjacent ICU room—cancer. There was this girl, crying all the time in the hallways. I thought she was your girlfriend. Watched her for a while. Then she just… disappeared. The staff said the patient in the next room died. That patient was you. Meyer Tranze."
Suddenly, the officer straightened like he'd been struck by lightning. "So—how the hell are you standing here looking fresh as hell?!"
"Wait a second!" he shouted.
Then he caught himself—I'm a cop, he thought. "Never mind," he muttered. "Let's go."
The police car outside was sleek and white, sharp at the front. It wasn't a sports car—it looked more like a stiletto on wheels. As Meyer made that awful mental joke, he abandoned his inner voice altogether.
The cop in the driver's seat watched him climb in, immediately switching off the sensual anniversary playlist he'd been playing like someone had reached inside his uniform and yanked his thong.
"So Meyer," the officer asked while starting the engine, "how long has it been since you last came to this bar?"
The way the cop used a casual tone made Meyer feel oddly… important.
Then something stirred in his mind.
"The Devil Chip isn't going to stay quiet for this long. You were supposed to reach the tower. You haven't done your job. Doesn't it annoy you, being stuck on this level? Kod 43 is furious. And when its wrath hits the sky, nothing good comes of it."
No sooner had the Devil Chip's voice faded than a truck appeared in Meyer's line of vision. The daylight dimmed. All he could see was the truck's shadow. The officers' loud voices turned to noise. His mind froze in that moment. The sirens screamed. His ears rang. And through the incoming lights, he saw it—
A massive spider.
Glinting.
Glowing.
The last thought in his mind: "It's over. Again. It's all over—again."