Psychological warfare at its finest

The interrogation room set up in the damp, stone basement of a requisitioned imperial estate near Deabis smelled of damp earth, copper, and modern industrial antiseptic.

​Dominic, or that's what he called himself, a senior CIA covert operations officer assigned to the PDTO-NATO Joint Interrogation Group, sat quietly at a folding plastic table. He wore no tactical gear, just a plain, rolled-up Oxford shirt, dark trousers, and reading glasses he used to flip through a thick manila folder filled with satellite imagery and encrypted field reports. Opposite him, chained to a bolted iron chair, was Senator Lucius Varo, a wealthy patrician and one of the largest slave-holders in the central Saderan provinces.

​Varo’s face was bruised, but his posture remained arrogant. He was accustomed to Saderan political games, where patrician blood carried weight and torture was an art form delivered with dramatic speeches. He assumed this foreign "barbarian in glasses" would eventually try to negotiate.

​"I have told your military captains a dozen times," Varo spat, wiping blood from his lip onto his fine tunic. "I am a senator of the Realm. I do not track every piece of chattel that passes through the northern markets. If your missing Japanese citizens were sold, they are in the deep mines or long dead. You have no jurisdiction here."

​Dominic didn't look up from his file. He took a slow sip from a stainless-steel thermos of black coffee, set it down without a sound, and adjusted his glasses.

​"You know, Lucius, when your people marched through Ginza, you took roughly two hundred civil abductees through the Gate," Dominic said, his tone entirely conversational, like a bank loan officer reviewing a mortgage application. "We’ve recovered one hundred and forty-two. But I assume there's more out there. Our overhead imagery picked up a covered transport caravan leaving your primary estate three nights ago, heading toward the mountain vaults near the capital."

​"I know nothing of any caravan," Varo scoffed, leaning back as far as his chains allowed. "Do what you will. Beat me. Execute me. Prince Zorzal will retake this city, and when he does, your little coalition will answer for every drop of noble blood—"

​Dominic held up a hand, cut him off mid-sentence without raising his voice, and tapped a button on a grey tactical radio sitting on the table.

​"Bring them in," Dominic said into the mic.

​The heavy oak door swung open. Two 2046 officers in monolithic multicam gear, high-threat plate carriers, facial ballistic shrouds, and glowing red optical sensors stepped into the room. Between them, they nudged forward a terrified woman wrapped in a fine silk palla and a twelve-year-old boy in an embroidered tunic.

​Varo’s arrogance instantly shattered into a cold, paralyzing terror.

​"Livia? Marcus?" Varo gasped, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes widened in disbelief. He thrashed against the iron chains.

"What is this?! You monsters! They are civilians! They are my family!"

​"I know who they are, Lucius," Dominic said softly. He pulled off his reading glasses, folded them neatly, and placed them beside his coffee thermos. He didn't look angry. He didn't look sinister. His face was entirely, horribly blank. 

"Your wife, Livia. Your youngest son, Marcus. Our forward teams picked them up at your summer villa an hour ago while they were preparing to flee north."

​"You... you cannot do this!" Varo screamed, his voice cracking as his son began to weep hysterically against his mother's side, terrified by the silent, faceless officer standing over them with an unmoving, mechanical posture.

"There are laws! Your coalition boasts of its justice! Its morals!"

​"The coalition has laws, yes," Dominic replied, opening a small leather kit on the table to reveal a simple, clean pair of heavy mechanics' pliers and a small, sterile syringe.

"The military police have laws. The UN observers back in Italica have laws. But I don't work for the coalition civil affairs branch, Lucius. I work for the United States Government. And my job is to find our people and the people of our allies, even from a different time."

​Dominic stood up casually, picked up a folding metal chair, and placed it directly next to the boy. He gestured for the officer to sit the weeping child down.

​"No! No! Don't touch him!" Varo shrieked, the chains rattling violently as he threw his full weight forward.

"Leave them out of this! I am the one you want!"

​Dominic ignored the senator entirely. He leaned down, offering the terrified twelve-year-old a small, plastic-wrapped ration bar from his pocket. The boy recoiled, sobbing into his mother's skirt.

​"It's chocolate, kid. It's fine," Dominic said gently, placing the bar on the child's knee. He then turned his head slightly toward the officer behind the mother, and in full Falmartian Latin for the senator and his wife to hear. "If he doesn't start giving us locations in thirty seconds, start with the boy's fingers."

​"You sick, godless barbarian!" Varo roared, tears of pure panic streaming down his face as he watched the massive, armored officer step forward and firmly pin his son's wrist to the stone table. "He is a child! He knows nothing of the war!"

​Dominic checked his digital watch. "Twenty seconds."

​"I don't have them! I swear by the Gods, I don't have them in my house!"

​"Ten seconds," Dominic said, picking up his thermos and taking another small, calm sip. He wasn't watching Varo; he was looking at a digital map on his tablet.

​"Stop! Stop! All right! All right! The deep vaults at the Appia quarry!" Varo screamed, his voice breaking into a ragged, pathetic sob as the officer's heavy gloved hand tightened on his son's small hand.

"They are at the Appia quarry! Thirty-four of them! My overseer has the keys! They are being kept alive for leverage against your advancing lines! I swear it! I swear it on my ancestors!"

​Dominic held up his hand. The officer immediately released the boy's wrist and stepped back, returning to a rigid, silent stance.

​Dominic pulled out his radio, pressed the push-to-talk button, and spoke clearly into the receiver. "Strike Team Alpha, this is Control. Target location confirmed: Appia Quarry, Grid 04-89. Deploy the breach teams and secure the hostages. Treat all guards as hostile."

​A static crackle came through the speaker. "Copy that, Control. Alpha rolling out now."

​Dominic set the radio back on the table. He stood up, adjusted his tie, and slipped his reading glasses back into his breast pocket. He picked up his manila folder and his coffee thermos.

​Varo slumped in his chains, hyperventilating, his eyes fixed on his terrified, shaking family.

"You... you have what you want," the senator whispered, his voice stripped of all imperial pride. "Now let them go. Please."

​Dominic stopped at the door. He turned around and looked at Varo with an expression of cold, utter indifference.

​"My fellow officers will escort your family to the refugee processing center in Deabis. They'll be fed, clothed, and assigned to a civil integration camp," Dominic said smoothly.

​"And me?" Varo choked out, looking up at the CIA officer.

​Dominic unlocked the heavy oak door, revealing two armed JGSDF military police officers waiting in the corridor outside.

​"You're being extradited to Tokyo," Dominic said, stepping out into the hallway. "Alnus Tokyo, to be exact. The families of the people you kept in dark holes for god knows how many years, but they are waiting to see what you look like in a prison suit."

​The heavy oak door slammed shut, leaving the broken senator alone in the dim room with his weeping family and the silent, unyielding guards of the new world.

-

I've been getting recommendations to watch Mushoku Tensei. Should I watch it? Is Rudeus actually a pedo, like what people on TikTok say he is?