In short order a couple more uniform men appeared, - policeman or constables, he supposed.
Something in the need for human interaction calmed him down. And little by little, Nate found himself answering their questions;
His name was Nathan Brooks. His dad was Jhonathan Brooks, first share holder and CEO of the shipping company Transpacific Brook’s. He lived in Seattle, 599 Maddison Street, and he was seventeen years old.
The weird policemen look oddly at each other.
“Impossible! My skill says he is telling the truth!” The younger one said in awe, “but he can’t be older than ten and I’ve never heard of this Seetle place before… and what does Transific even means...”
“I don’t know about a Maddison, but I believe there is a Mason Streat in High Garden Island…” ponder the mustachioed one aloud.
“Don’t be daft, you two. Truth-seeker triggering just means he believes in what he says, not that what he says is true…” the older constable chided gruffly, “By the looks of it, this lad clearly got hit in the head. Is rare, but sometimes injured’ memories get scrambled. We shouldn’t take whatever comes out of his mouth at face value…”
“Truth-seeker? Skills? The fuck are you people talking about?!”
All three constables froze, then the older one urged;
“It must be worse than I thought… Quickly, stop a carriage! We must take him to the nearest healer!”
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As he was pushed into the carriage a hundred thousand questions fought for Nate’s attention:
Where was he? Why did everyone cosplay the Victorian look so hard? What was it with the zeppelin floating over the brick and timber city in the stormy sky? Didn’t they reckon how potentially flammable that whole situation was?! But more importantly, why was that alley so dam filthy?! It had to be a sanitary violation of some kind! He was so filing a complaint to the City Counsil… or whatever they had here… Damm it! Why wouldn’t this blood go away!?
“Are you alright, lad?”
“I’m not… I’m filthy…”
“Right… what was the last thing you remember again…?”
“Like I told you, I was on my apartment and then I was not! I don’t know anything else… Dam it! None of you guys have a hanky?”
“What’s a hanky?” whispered the younger one to the old one.
Nate answered similarly curtly the few next times the men tried to made conversation, and before long the carriage had stop in front of what can only be described as the gothest of churches, but with weird S-like symbols in the place of the usual crosses.
“Yes, constables, how may our humble temple be of service…” a plump old nun great them kindly at the door, but stop upon seeing Nate cover in blood, “Oh dear… I… Wait here. I’ll call Mother Dana right away!”
And so, they stood there in awkward silence. Nate supposed people took religion verry seriously here by the way the three constables fidgeted while hugging their custodian-hats to their chests.
He took a look around.
The place was blessedly clean but the inside decoration was so loaded with columns, idols and handing brazier, that Nate just knew there was filth hiding everywhere. The golden s motives in the ceiling looked good, until you had to find a way to properly scrub them all the way up there. Besides, why did they have to build the ceiling so tall? Who were they trying to impress… Oh… Then it hit him.
Yes, the ceiling was tall, but not that much higher than other churches he had seen… It was him who was small… this was not a Cristian church…these were not Scotland-yard cosplayers… and this wasn’t his body…
Nate’s eyes rolled back into his sockets, and he passed out on the clean church’s floor.
