Monday.

John awoke in the following afternoon with a start. His hands, which had been squeezing around a small mug so tightly the night before, were now left dangling and numb off to each side of him. His face already felt hot and a little damp with drool as he groaned dumbly into the hard, slim surface beneath him. Almost immediately the light in the room stabbed through his groggy eyes as he tried to wake up in a flash like he had for almost every morning since he got his powers and left him whining as if the light had somehow bitten a chunk out of his head. He tried to swallow and ask for water as he immediately squeezed his eyes shut again, but his mouth was so dry that he couldn't even form a complete sentence. A stray voice scoffed and then chuckled dryly from somewhere nearby and managed to coax another wince and a moan out of him before he finally drew his sore arms back enough to try and block out the noise.

He didn't even bother trying to sit up until he realized that no one around him would actually do anything to help with his splitting headache. After a good five minutes of simply waiting, he squeezed his eyes shut a little tighter and then tried to **** himself up. When his head began to spin and his stomach turned upside down, however, John shot forward. His hands latched onto his rigid, makeshift bed, and before he could throw up, he strained to make his Gamer's Mind catch up to his stomach and tried to **** it to calm down. It helped with the slightest bit of dizziness, but the sickly feeling in his gut didn't truly go away.

When he finally felt safe enough to open his eyes though, the dizziness returned almost immediately. His hands shot over to cover his mouth, and he watched with wide eyes as the ground spanned out below him... far, far below him... despite the fact that his feet touched the ground almost immediately. Even though he was seated only two feet over a solid concrete floor, John couldn't help but gag and **** at how far away it seemed to be. The unknown voice from earlier chuckled again as John nearly collapsed back down onto the metallic bench he had been laid across and then muttered something about the young Gamer in a voice that was too soft to hear.

The next voice was not so soft on his aching head...

"MORNING, TREASURE~!" ... even if it was velvety and feminine. A wide, pearly grin peeked out at him from behind a set of giant, cold, grey, steel bars. The figure on the other side giggled at him, the tone of her voice rising slightly with her accent. It was a little difficult for John to identify what kind of accent it was, not because it wasn't familiar to him but because he couldn't remember what his mother had called it for the longest time. He sat there thinking about it and stared at this woman with a furrowed brow, struggling to figure out what was happening before it hit him all at once. He even realized where he was... though he still couldn't remember why or how he got here. This stranger sounded like she was trying to do the 'southern belle' imitation that his mother used to do to try and make him laugh... only that was her actual accent. She was actually southern and didn't seem to care to try and hide it as she stuck her hands on her hips and stared at John.

She was dressed all in black, from her slack pants and shoes to the neat, jet-black, short-sleeved, dress shirt that did absolutely nothing to compliment her womanly shape. It didn't hide it completely, after all John could still make out the round, generous swell of her backside and her curvy hips, but it didn't help either. If anything, it just made her look squarish and broad. She had no belt on or anything decorating the various pockets and places on her shirt and thighs, but the other thing that John realized was that she should have had that stuff. She should have had a belt, a vest, a gun, and probably a dozen other things because... she was a cop.... and he was in a police station.

The drunk tank, specifically.

"Ughh..." One of John's hands slapped up to rub across his heavy eyes; he didn't even think twice about how his Gamer's Body should have prevented the residual exhaustion, he just tried to get rid of it. He swallowed dryly again, and with a raised brow he glanced at the woman who called him 'Treasure.' Thankfully, she did have her name stitched into her uniform... or part of it, and with a little bit of stumbling, he moved across the room to read Officer 'Abbot's' name off the front of her shirt. "What happened last night?" A small smirk curled across Officer Abbot's lips.

"Oh? You don't remember, Treasure?" Another giggle escaped the policewoman, and a short chuckle from the other man who had been stuffed into the drunk tank. She took a moment to flick a single braid of golden blonde hair over her shoulder and then regarded him with a piercing grey stare. Her hair hung only a few inches past her neck, but it was more than enough to require attention if it ever got in the way. "We found you stumbling your way through the park after hours... while the park was closed."

John blinked. Whatever problems he had been having with the morning's hangover seemed like mere annoyance for the time being. He had been put in a steel cell for... trespassing? Loitering? Underage drinking? It didn't make much sense to him either way, especially since he hadn't been sober when it happened. He didn't even remember it.

"Well... I feel sober now. Am I free to go?" he asked and almost immediately Officer Abbot cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Not yet. I have some questions for you." She didn't even hesitate to deny him. As soon as he asked the question, she simply shut him down and took a few steps back to lean against the nearby wall opposite of the cage’s cell door.

"Uh-oooh..." the other drunkard in the cell muttered and then laughed again. John stiffened at the sound of his rasping voice. His tone was so heavy and rough that it sounded like his voice was having trouble passing through the brush of a tobacco-stained mustache that he had on his lip. The yellowy tufts of hair didn't even move as he spoke. They were stuck in place. "It sounds like you're in troubl-"

"Shut up, Murph," she snapped... and then inhaled slowly for a long moment, as if she knew that the questioning might take a while before John spoke up again to interrupt her.

"Am I under arrest?" he asked and felt his stomach sink when he realized how bad this could have actually been. What if he had done something other than wander through a park and she just hadn't told him yet? Despite how quick John was to jump to conclusions though, Officer Abbot didn't let him dwell on it for too long. A part of him had started to wonder if he had robbed a store or a bank with his new powers since she wasn't letting him go. When she shook her head at him though, those thoughts quickly disappeared. "Then I am free to leave." It wasn't a question, and judging from the surprised look she gave him, she knew it.

"I can put you under arrest if you'd like. Heaven knows you gave me lots of wiggle room with that." There was a moment of silence where the two of them simply stared at each other. Abbot's ruby painted lips pursed at him as he tried to think it over, tried to judge what it was that she had on him, and then she spoke up again. "...Or... you can answer some of my questions and then you'll be free to go!" she said and then flashed him a bright lovely smile, as if she was actually going to follow through on that promise. Eventually though, John just nodded at her.

"Great!" she squeaked at him, and Murph, the other drunk in the room, scoffed from somewhere behind him. "What did you take last night?" Murph made sure to repeat that question, though mostly because he said he wanted to try it too.

"Nothing. I-" He didn't even get to finish his sentence.

"Your blood **** was at a solid .23 when we found you, Treasure. Don't tell me you weren't on anything!" she snapped, and both men stared at her through the bars. Murph didn't make any remarks this time. He just watched in silence.

"It was just a brew that one of my friends made at home." The questioning continued like that for some time. When she asked if he spent all day drinking it, he told her that it was a strong batch. When she asked who his friend was, John insisted that they weren't necessarily friends but more like... acquaintances, and his buddy was just being hospitable. She didn't stop trying to ask for his name though, so eventually, John just gave it. "Mub. You can search for him if you want." That gave him a small, private smile.

She asked why he was in the park, what they had put into the brew, and threatened to have him **** tested to get an answer, but the fact that he didn't know couldn't help her. He truly could not have guessed at what was in that drink. For all John knew, it could have just been a handful of herbs and fruits that didn't even exist in the real world. A part of him wondered if a **** test might be able to identify some of it. She asked him everything she could think of, just to try and find a proper excuse to keep him in jail. Even if it meant asking him where he had been all of the previous day. She didn't seem too pleased when he said that he had spent the day with Mub and that she could find him in 'Bleakfield.'

"Why were you drinking? And don't tell me that you had that much just because a friend offered it to you," she said finally, and John paused. He did consider telling her that he had barely touched any of the ****... or at least as far as he could remember... but he didn't. He gave her a proper reason, despite how uncomfortable the answer made him feel. "A friend of mine got shot... Grace." Again, Murph didn't say anything. At the very least, he had the respect to keep his mouth shut. "Grace Patel," he only clarified when the officer opened her mouth to speak again. There was a small beat of silence before Abbot asked him when it happened. "Yesterday... or the day before." All of the hours he spent in the barrier were wreaking havoc on his own sense of time. "I can't remember. It's been a long week."

"I... understand." Though her tone suggested that she didn't. He didn't think that her skepticism was too far misplaced. If something like that had happened to him before he got his powers, it wouldn't have made sense to him if someone simply forgot what day one of their friends got shot. "And who was it that shot him?" she paused and shook her head hard for a moment. "I mean her." Her question still made John sigh heavily.

"I already went over all of this with the other cops," he muttered and gritted his teeth together hard.

"One more time for me... Treasure." Again, she smirked at him.

"It was her abusive ex-boyfriend, Chad Ricken," he answered. "The guy has been suspected as a **** dealer for a long time, but he still has not been arrested." Her eyes widened when he listed Chad as the criminal, as if the information had somehow been surprising to her.

"Chad Ricken... are you sure about that?" she asked and began to tap her foot impatiently.

"Yeah..." Surprisingly, that was one of the very few lies that he actually told her. The rest of their conversation was incredibly truthful... or at least made up of parts of the truth. "Why? Do you know hi-"

"Are you sure it wasn't Michel?" she said suddenly, and John froze. His whole body stiffened and went cold for a long, hard moment as her eyes traced over every twitch and subtle expression he had.

"W-what did you just say?"

"Michel. Come on, you have to know who I'm talking about," she paused for a moment, folded her arms up in front of herself and stared John dead in the eyes.

"The guy you killed."