The Shadow Of The Lunar Curse

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Chapter 15: Roomba police department 

The rest of the day passed in a haze of classes and experiments. Jerry tested Inspect on everything he could think of, determined to uncover some deeper truth behind the skill.

Erin Moore: Age: 17. Affinity: unknown. Potential: High. Loyalty: none.

Raiden Talen: Age: 18. Affinity: ???. Potential: ???. Loyalty: none.

Math Textbook: Advanced Mathematics. Intelligence required: 20 to fully comprehend.

Each result revealed a fragment of insight. Small, intriguing details, yet ultimately unsatisfying. Higher-level entities and more complex objects yielded cryptic or incomplete information, like the system was teasing him with half-finished puzzles.

By the time the final bell rang, Jerry's head was buzzing with more questions than answers.

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The afternoon sun sliced through the cafeteria windows, streaking the floor in uneven gold. Jerry sighed, stepping outside. His sneakers grated against the gravel as he wandered toward a twisted tree. Its branches clawed at the air, sharp and strange, like it had frozen mid-scream.

His fingers prickled, the faint buzz of energy crawling up his arm. "Inspect," he muttered, almost too low to hear, the sound swallowed by the distant drone of students inside.

Words shimmered before him.

Age: 52 years.

Health: Excellent.

Jerry blinked, his brow furrowing. "Well," he said, dragging the word out, "that's… something." His hand fell back to his side, and his eyes stayed on the tree.

The skill worked—sure. However, it was incomplete, limited—like looking at the world through dirty glass. Higher-level things? They were blank. Objects? Riddles. And Jerry hated riddles.

His fists curled, nails scraping against his palms. "I need to level up," he whispered, his voice tight. The words didn't feel like a solution. They felt like a weight.

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Evening came like a slow bleed, the sky outside his window painted in clashing streaks of orange and purple. Jerry leaned against the frame, the cool glass pressing into his forehead.

Images clawed at the back of his mind. They didn't fade—they sharpened.

The crash.

The man.

His wild eyes.

The pendant that burned like fire into Jerry's palm.

His hand hovered over his phone before he grabbed it, punching in a number.

"Tim," he said the second the call connected. His voice was tight, his breath uneven. "I can't stop thinking about the crash."

The line was quiet for a second. Then, "The car crash guy? What about him?"

Jerry stared at his palm, the faint scar barely visible. However, the feeling of it—hot and sharp—never left. "I think he's tied to all of this. The system. The mark. Everything started with him."

Tim exhaled, a long sound that fuzzed over the line. "Alright. Where do we start?"

Jerry's eyes locked on the woods in the distance, where the light was slipping away. "The crash site," he said, and this time, his voice didn't waver.

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The woods at the edge of town were quiet the next day. Too quiet. Shadows twisted through the trees, stretching long and strange, like they had somewhere to go.

Jerry crouched by the scorched patch of ground. The air still carried the faint tang of burnt metal, sharp and sour. It made the back of his throat itch.

He closed his eyes, reaching. Letting his senses spread felt unnatural—like stretching a muscle that didn't belong to him.

A metallic taste hit his tongue, sharp and biting, undercut by something electric. It felt wrong, like the moments before lightning strikes.

"Inspect," he whispered, focusing on the blackened dirt beneath him.

Residual Energy: Source—Unknown Artifact. Traces faint but stable.

Jerry's breath caught in his throat. His pulse kicked up, faster than he'd like. "The pendant," he murmured.

"What is it?" Tim's voice cut through the stillness, louder than it needed to be. He stood a few feet back, hands buried in his jacket pockets.

Jerry pushed to his feet, brushing dirt off his palms. "There's something left behind by the pendant. It's faint, but it's here."

Tim's brows lifted. "That thing really did a number on you, didn't it?"

Jerry shot him a sharp look. "We need more information. I think we should—"

"Check police records?" Tim interrupted, his grin cutting across his face like he'd just solved a puzzle.

Jerry rolled his eyes, though he couldn't help the corner of his mouth twitching. "You've been watching way too much TV."

Tim shrugged, not even trying to hide his grin. "Lucky for you, my dad works at Roomba PD. I might be able to… borrow a few files."

Jerry raised a brow. "Don't get yourself arrested."

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The Roomba Police Department buzzed with noise. Phones rang in overlapping waves. Keys clattered, printers groaned, and somewhere in the back, Officer Jenkins cursed at a jammed machine.

The smell of burnt coffee and stale cologne hung heavy in the air.

Tim strolled in, the bell above the door jingling faintly. He tugged at the strings of his hoodie, his sneakers squeaking obnoxiously on the polished floor.

Behind the desk sat Officer Jenkins, his mustache twitching with every irritated scribble of his pen.

"Evening, Jenkins," Tim called, leaning against the counter like he owned it. "What's up with our favorite town hero?"

Jenkins didn't even look up. "What do you want, Vik?"

Tim smirked. "Just here to see my dad. You know, good ol' father-son bonding time."

Jenkins snorted. "Bonding? Last time you were here, the vending machine exploded."

"That was an accident," Tim said, holding up his hands like he was innocent. "Who knew it was so fragile?"

"You drop-kicked it."

"Details," Tim said with a shrug. "So, can I go, or do you need me to fill out a permission slip?"

Jenkins sighed, waving him through. "Just stay out of trouble, alright?"

Tim mock-saluted. "Trouble? Never met her."

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(AN: sorry for my extreme short chapters recently I'm just going through a lot and not enough time to right but I'll improve my writing soon, just bare with me)