Jacques couldn't understand where all this eruption of rage was coming from. He had already let it go. It didn't matter anymore. He didn't care about Charles—not now that he had Ethan by his side.
He had just returned home from the mountain after having a great time with his best friend. Everything was good. But once he opened his dorm door and saw Mourice there, he couldn't hold himself back.
A surge of rage quickly spread through his veins, and that's when his logic shut down. All he wanted to do was wreck Mourice's head into porridge.
"Jacques, no!" Mourice sensed the danger and stepped back as Jacques lunged toward him with a powerful punch.
Charles pushed Mourice aside with a kick—and the place where Mourice's head had been just moments ago—the bunker pole—shattered under the impact, making the bed collapse off its frame.
Splinters stabbed into his trembling knuckle, but Jacques didn't even feel it.
Mourice realized how bad this was, and he had one choice now: run.
Jacques chased him like a monster in a nightmare as Mourice ran for his life through the dorm's corridor. Mourice was quick—but Jacques was faster. When Jacques caught up, he swung his fist to inflict lethal damage. He didn't care anymore—his logic was dead now.
Mourice barely managed to save his head from the powerful punch that landed on the wall instead—creating a hole through the dorm room. The cadets inside the dorm were shocked, wondering if their dorm was under attack.
"Big Mo, what happened?!" Hughes yelled when he saw Mourice running through the corridors—but Mourice had no time to explain. He leaped over the second floor's railing and jumped to the first floor, creating a quick escape.
Hughes barely had time to process it when Jacques passed him, eyes burning with killing intent. Without hesitation, Jacques leaped over the railing and jumped straight to the first floor as if diving into a swimming pool—chasing Mourice, who was now running toward the dormitory exit.
"What happened?" The cadets were asking each other, trying to figure out the chaos.
"It's Jacques and Mourice."
"Why are they fighting?"
"I don't know."
Charles, however, knew exactly what to do. He called the police—the real police—reporting an attempted murder in the police academy dorm.
Out of breath, Mourice stopped running and picked up a riot shield from the training ground. He used it to shield himself against Jacques's lethal punch—but Jacques's fist went straight through the shield, impaling it like a spear.
"Jacques, you're crazy, man!" Mourice tossed the broken shield aside and kept running, grabbing a tonfa baton and another shield.
"Jacques, think about it," Mourice bargained, trying to put logic back into Jacques's mind. "Do you know who I am?"
Jacques didn't stop his attack. Mourice swung his shield in a way that flowed with Jacques's strikes, redirecting the force to avoid damaging his shield.
"I am the son of the Chief Commander of the Intergalactic Police! If you kill me—"
Mourice barely finished his words before Jacques's fist landed directly on his right eye. A cracking sound echoed through his head as Mourice's head snapped back. His vision blurred instantly, pain exploding through his skull like a white-hot flash.
His body crash into a mattress propped against the wall. His limbs twitched, trying to respond, but his body wouldn't cooperate.
His ears rang, and he lose control over his limbs.
Like someone waking from a hypnotic trance, Jacques suddenly realized what he was doing. He reached out to Mourice and shook his body. Mourice's right eye was soaked in blood, and Jacques feared he might have killed him.
"Mo, wake up! Wake up!!" Jacques shook his body, but Mourice wasn't moving at all.
Mourice's lips barely parted, a strained breath escaping, but his right eye was already swelling shut, blood trickling from the brow.
The sound of police sirens grew louder, closing in fast. Jacques knew—not only might he have killed someone—but now, his future was at stake.
***
The instructors held another meeting. Since they were now on vacation, some of them were joining the meeting through holographic screens.
Colonel Corvus was dressed as if he were in the middle of the ocean, trying to fish for some cigar fish on a red planet. Major Rendra had removed her uniform and was wearing something relaxed, with some herbal tea on her table.
Lieutenant Morgan and Instructor David, however, were still on duty, but they hadn't been in the dormitory when the incident happened.
This time, Colonel Corvus took everything seriously. After witnessing the photographs of the damage Jacques had inflicted—the broken bunk bed, the hole in the concrete wall, and the injury on Mourice's face—he didn't believe it at first. He asked for the CCTV footage, and when he saw how it had all been caused—by a bare fist—Colonel Corvus sank into his own thoughts, ignoring what Instructor David was saying at the moment as he explained the chronology.
"What would you say now, Colonel Corvus?" Major Rendra asked calmly.
Colonel Corvus, though he was taking this seriously now, still had a faint smirk on his face as he carefully examined the pictures. He took his time—he knew it wasn't good to rush things.
Finally, he opened his mouth. "Instructor David, can you briefly tell me about Cadet Durant's family? Who are his parents, and where did he come from?"
"Yes, sir." Instructor David checked his desktop and opened Jacques Durant's biography file. This time, he looked into his family background and origins.
"Jacques Durant was found on the street as a boy… raised by a dog—"
What the fuck? Instructor David thought to himself while his mouth kept reading what was written there.
"—with an unknown birthdate or year. He was almost killed by the local folks for stealing food from the marketplace, but the police intervened and saved his life. After being taken to the orphanage, he was introduced to human life and later adopted by an astroanthropology professor, Marie Durant. He was sent to the police academy to receive an education."
"Call his mother, now. Link her with me," Colonel Corvus commanded, he wasn't surprised to learn that background as he already suspected something.
***
Alone in the dark cell, Jacques lay down in regret, covering his eyes with his arm. The image of Mourice's injured face, all the blood—still haunted him.
Shit! I almost killed someone. I really need to learn emotional control before I hurt someone else, Can't have joyful free life if police were chases after me, and bounty hunters are after my head. Jacques thought to himself.
Until the judges decided what to do with him, they put him in a solitary cell—isolated from the older prisoners—since he was only fifteen.
They had taken his phone, but they allowed him to make one call to let someone know he was in prison. Should he tell his mother or Ethan?
He wanted to let Ethan know because he didn't want to make him worry—but his mother deserved to know what had happened to him, since she was the one who sponsored him to enter the police academy.
"Only one? I need to tell two people," Jacques asked the police officer.
"Are both family?"
"My mother and my best friend," Jacques explained.
"Why would you call your best friend?" the officer argued. She then gave a direct instruction: "Just call your mother and let her pass the message to your best friend."
Jacques cleared his throat. "She doesn't know I'm gay..."
The officer laughed. "But you're telling me about it? You're one weird case, boy. But no—you're a minor. Go call your mother."
So he tried to call his mother, but the line was always busy.
Frustrated, he decided to call Ethan instead—without telling the police that he had dialed a different number.
"Hello?" Ethan's voice came through, and Jacques felt a bit more relaxed. This was why he preferred calling Ethan over Marie—because even though Ethan was just a friend, it was so much easier to talk to him about everything than to Marie.
"Mom? Mom, I'm in jail. The police arrested me," Jacques cleared his throat. It was a bit funny to call Ethan "Mom"—something he often wanted to tease him with but was afraid of offending him.
"Jacques? What happened?"
To his surprise, Ethan didn't even react to being called "Mom." That was great!
"I—I almost killed a guy."
"Oh gosh... why?"
"I just got angry when I saw his face. It's complicated to explain everything, but... I had a reason, okay? It's not like I'm going around killing people or bullying anyone for fun," Jacques explained.
"I know... Do you need me to be there?"
"Yes, I definitely need a mom here," Jacques held back his giggle at his own tease toward Ethan.
"I'd join you in prison if they'd let me. What would you like to eat?"
"Carnivore rica would be good," Jacques teased again, poking at Ethan's sensitive, strict heritage. Chungwa's protectiveness over their traditions could remind anyone of the Italians and their deep attachment to their culture. The fact that Ethan wasn't mad about it said a lot about his personality.
"Okay, let me see if there's any vegetables with bugs in it."
Jacques laughed.
"No, I was joking. I'll be there soon."
"Yes, don't forget... uhh, Mom." Jacques signaled a code for Ethan to dress up as his mother since he was pretending to be his parent. He didn't know if Ethan got it or not—though usually, he did. Ethan was very smart.
"Yes, son, don't worry about it," he ends the call.
Just after Jacques put down the phone, two male officers slapped handcuffs back on his wrists.
"Hey, what is this? I'm already in jail!"
They took him outside the police station and into a high-security transport truck designed for carrying dangerous inmates. Inside the truck, a man in a nice suit was waiting.
"What the hell is this?" Jacques's eyes narrowed as he noticed a medical team standing nearby.
"Jacques Durant?" one of the doctors—bald on top—smiled casually.
"Yes, this is the kid," one of the police officers confirmed.
"Good. Let's take you somewhere you belong," the man in the suit nodded, and the officers pushed Jacques inside the truck.
The handcuffs on his wrists weren't enough—they secured stronger chains around his limbs.
"Okay, what's going on?" Jacques was angry now—they'd better have a good explanation.
The man was holding a syringe, carefully measuring the right dose. "Don't worry about it. You're in good hands. Hold him."
The officers bent Jacques's arm and held his wrist to expose his inner elbow so the doctor could inject the liquid. Jacques struggled to break free, but the drug was already working.
Before losing consciousness, Jacques heard the man say, "Sorry, kid. We're afraid of you—but the world needs a hero like you. I promise it's all going to be worth it. Now, sleep well."