Their filthy hideout. Their parents were upper-middle class, at least to some extent. But Joshua and his gang, already guilty of multiple petty crimes, had been abandoned by them.
“What the hell is taking them so long?” Joshua muttered. “Probably messing around somewhere. Maybe they forgot about us,” Yamada replied.
Just then, the door was suddenly kicked open.
“Show me your hands. Joshua Bar Yosef. David Yamada. You are under arrest.”
The robot’s face was equipped with a high-powered laser, and it was clear that it had them in its sights.
In this part of town, ignoring a first warning meant instant death. Human Rights Ignore Mode—that’s what Joshua and his gang jokingly called it.
Joshua, feigning indifference, stood up slowly as if to say, “We’re not scared.”
At the police station, the two were being interrogated on suspicion of aiding a terrorist.
“Scum like you helping terrorists is exactly why they’re still running around,” a man—presumably a detective—said, shoving a photo in front of them. “We already know you helped this guy escape.”
But Joshua had never seen the man in the picture before.
“I don’t know him.”
“Don’t lie to me. We already have everything on you.” The detective spoke irritably, clearly a short-tempered man. He was barely holding back his rage.
Grabbing Joshua by the collar, he growled, “Hurry up and confess, or things will get a lot worse for you.”
This was a man who had no qualms about using violence. Someone like Joshua had no chance of calling a lawyer.
Since the First Interplanetary War, the slums had become a place where the prevailing attitude was that people who loitered there didn’t deserve human rights.
Joshua knew that unless he confessed, he was in for a severe beating.