《Affairs of Demons and Men》


 Prologue

    This was it, wasn¡¯t it? The Pen that collected the names of the Mortal Souls that had passed on. He takes a second, his clawed hands shaking as he hesitates to pick it up. It¡¯s smooth, glossy, casing, vibrates, the tip is a pointed metal triangle. This is what they would use to dip into the ink and write the names of the souls that had passed. To collect them. To finalize their death so to speak. He takes a second, licking his lips in excitement, the tip of his tongue touching his pronounced canines as he cackles under his breath.


    The Celestials really had more trust that no one would try to take this, they didn¡¯t even have any security, leaving it out unprotected. For something so special, they didn¡¯t treat it very special and now, it was his. What could he do with this pen? The drunken Phantoms like him, who hang at the darkest corners of the Celestial realm, blabbered on about the one who writes with the pen owns it. Though he wonders if that¡¯s just drunken rambling from old shadows. Whatever the truth be, it was now his. Footsteps. Oh, he better go before he is caught.


    Slipping the pen into his pocket. He wonders what he could do with the Pen now that he had his hands on it. He should in theory be able to speed or delay the process of death just by simply writing the name of something on a piece of paper. Maybe, he smirks, he could try it on one of those Higher Celestials. The ones Mortals call god like. If he did so, maybe he could rise from just being a Phantom to a higher being? Or maybe he should test it on something? Could he kill a higher being with it in the first place?


    No one said he couldn¡¯t. It¡¯s too bad this thing doesn¡¯t come with any instructions. In his eagerness to use the Pen, he takes it out again, to stare at the pretty casing of the fountain pen. He can practically taste the fear of this Pen in his hands.


    ¡°You do not have jurisdiction to be up here,¡± they say that, but where was any of their security?


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he replies with a smirk.


    Shit. He didn¡¯t hide the Pen. The Seraphim looks at him. What rotten ugly bastards they are, they think that just because their hair is golden, and that they have these beautiful wings, that they are better than Phantoms like him.


    ¡°What are you doing with that?¡± The Seraphim ask him.


    ¡°Er, nothing,¡± Trista replies.


    ¡°I kindly ask that you return that,¡± The Seraphim lifts up one of her four arms. No, he came too far to take it, he¡¯s not returning it back to these glowing, golden bastards. It¡¯s time a world of darkness reawakening, bringing back the power of the Phantoms. Bringing back the things Humans feared. Storing the Pen into his pocket, he attempts to run. He probably cannot out run her, then out the window, she can fly, but so can he. He runs forward, as if he¡¯s going to charge her, but immediately ducks out the window of the building. Diving down into the Primordial nothingness.


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    The Celestial realm is no heavenly sky, but a big vast void. A vacuum of ideas, where stars are made out of prayers, and wishes, dreams that are sent up or spoken and collected. While the realms shift like lenses crossing each other. He only needs to make it to the swirling vortex, a big pool of sparkling dust, whirling around, in order to get back to the realm of the Phantoms. He doesn¡¯t have wings like hers, his come spread out from his back, as he dives, as he quickly picks up speed trying to make it to the whirling cosmic whirlpool, his wings spread out, and he jerks upward quickly to begin to glide. Soaring without flapping.


    She¡¯s hot on his heels, however. With six wings, flapping behind him quickly. Her golden hair flowing in every which direction, and as she soars through the Celestial Void, the place between the realms, the closer she gets to the whirling whirlpools the more her hair bleeds into the background fading like runny watercolor. He feels it himself too, his physical reality, his consciousness, is beginning to unravel like accidentally dropping a ball of yarn. He¡¯s almost there.


    She slams into him. They collide. And at first he swears he feels her consciousness, as they tie together. The wind is knocked out of him, as he slams into a floating object in the Celestial void. They are less close to the shifting realm, the lenses click, as the realms merge, and then separate again. She dives to apprehend him. He scrambles to gain his balance mid air after hitting the floating obelisk.


    She attempts to reach out to him. He narrowly escapes her grasp, trying to pick up speed again. He cannot fly. Not like her. And there is no gust of wind for him to soar. He has to land on another floating obelisk, running around the cylinder, he hears her heavy footsteps right behind him. He just runs half around the cylinder, before diving off of it trying to pick up any momentum. With one powerful woosh, she is already in the air.


    Her wings flap. The sound of them reminds him of a heartbeat. He can make it this time. The Lenses click. The realms converge together. Muddled at first, before they pulled away again. There it is the Phantom Realm, this time he can make it. Unraveling in the primordial nothingness, just barely touching the tip of the other realm, till he slams into The Lenses.


    Big circular glass platforms, she pins him. She¡¯s on his back. He tries to overpower her. They wrestle around for a bit. Tumbling. First he¡¯s on top of her. She¡¯s on top of him. They dangle over the edge of The Lenses. Then return to the center. His two arms trying to fend off her four. Eventually, he is too exhausted to fight her, but he attempts anyway. The Seraphim looks at him.


    ¡°You are being held under the Celestial Order,¡± she declares in her victory, taking one of her lower arms to search his pockets. Their eyes meet. She looks surprised and puzzled. What is it? She digs deeper in the pockets of his coat. She can¡¯t find it? The Pen? Where did the Pen go? She looks past him, he tilts his head to the side, cheeks pressing against the glass of The Lenses. Oh shit. Not down there? He¡¯s staring at a swirling vortex of pink, it¡¯s smeared, almost like smeared paint on a palette.


    ¡°Are you gonna-


    -In a panic, he watches her fly off of him. She dives off The Lenses. There it is. Slightly still being dragged down the vacuum to the Mortal Realm. She¡¯s trying to retrieve it just before it falls completely into that world. He jumps off of it as well, in hopes he too can retrieve it before hers. Touching the whirling pool, he feels a strong pull, like an invisible force, he¡¯s trying to fight it, as it tries to drag him down. Parts of himself. Concepts of himself being stripped apart. Feeling stretched. Pulled apart. Both of their hands try to reach for the pen. He can¡¯t make it. If he goes any further he¡¯ll be dragged into the Mortal Realm. He pulls back. Lifting himself up, trying to reach for The Lense one more time, in hopes not to be completely dragged down. She doesn¡¯t. She thinks she can make it. He watches behind him, as her golden skin begins to fade. He¡¯s reached it. The Lens. He guesses that all that excitement has caused a stir has caught the attention of the other Seraphim because they stand at the center of the Lens looking at him. While one looks over the edge, ¡°She¡¯s fallen in.¡±


    ¡°Do you think she¡¯ll return,¡±


    ¡°No,¡±

 Quinn 1

    "Is anyone going to do anything,¡±


    Someone laughs, ¡°No. The teachers will get involved.¡± they reply. They hope a teacher will get involved. While everyone is witness to a student in our class being extorted for money my heart is racing, but I push through the crowd or maybe I glide through a clear path I see, while two taller students stand over Charles.


    ¡°Leave him alone,¡± I tell the two tall boys, James and Dominic. They both look over at me. Few will challenge them, but that is the nature of bystander bias. Everyone just lets these things happen because they believe the right people will stand up. They never do. And people like Charles go on in the world believing they aren¡¯t worth saving. I am not a physical fighter, I cannot fend them off in any way like tearing them off of Charles, but I can stand my ground. Looking both of them dead in the eye. But of course then I am putting myself at physical risk in the same way Charles is.


    ¡°Really,¡± James huffs.


    My classmates won¡¯t praise me. I won¡¯t be put on any front page of the school newspaper. A majority of them are just watching, laughing and snickering. Though I came late into the situation, because the teacher is already arriving to break apart the gathering of students. Shooing them away and encouraging them to go home for the evening. Mr. Ratcliff looks at me, ¡°How are you involved?¡± he asked me.


    ¡°Oh, I wasn¡¯t,¡± I respond, ¡°I am just here to take Charles home.¡±


    Charles looks over at me, he¡¯s short like me, though maybe taller, with a lithe build that makes him an easy target for people who think they are bigger and badder than him. His hair is curly, like copper wires highlights of blonde in his orangy hair.


    Ratcliff merely shoos us away with a hand gesture, I nod at Charles and attempt to smile. Charles attempts an awkward smile, but we¡¯ve never spoken before. We wouldn¡¯t even be considered friends. But I couldn¡¯t stand the injustice of people standing around watching him get cornered. Leading the way having Charles follow me, he nervously clears his throat.


    ¡°Why do that for me?¡± Charles ask, ¡°You and I rarely speak Quentin.¡± he states.


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    ¡°Quinn is fine,¡± I tell him with a smile, ¡°It¡¯s true that we rarely speak with each other, let¡¯s change that. So you can be safe after school.¡±


    Charles looks slightly uncomfortable, ¡°You¡¯re the weirdest classmate I have, you know.¡±


    ¡°Weird for doing the right thing?¡± I ask him.


    ¡°No one else would,¡± Charles shrugs.


    That kind of cynicism is born from the lack of help he has received. As others simply look and watch, some will record it on their phones and pass it around social media as if they have done their part to call out injustice. And while I do agree we need recorded evidence in those situations, I also think standing by and making commentary behind our phones is not nearly enough.


    ¡°Well, I am not no one else,¡± I tell him.


    ¡°Well, uh, thank you,¡± Charles pauses, as we exit the school grounds, finding ourselves staring out to the city, ¡°what now?¡±


    What now? That¡¯s a good question. Ordinarily in stories of heroism, the hero is applauded and they move on. But I am not really a hero. I abhor the idea that just by doing the thing they should do people get praise for it, get slapped onto the news. It defeats the purpose and makes justice seem fleeting. It makes what should be the right thing lesser. People shouldn¡¯t be praised for what they should be doing. It disgust me that the only reason people do good things is because they expect some kind of reward.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I tell him, ¡°What now?¡±


    Charles watches me.


    ¡°Do you want to do something?¡± Charles asks.


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    Charles looks uncomfortable, ¡°I really don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Neither do I,¡± I laugh.


    Charles laughs.


    ¡°You¡¯re kind of strange, you know that¡± Charles tells me.


    ¡°Am I?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but kind of cool, you stood up to James and Dominic,¡±


    ¡°I am glad to help,¡±


    Charles gives a nervous laugh, ¡°Yeah. Do you always do that?¡±


    ¡°When I am around-


    -like a superhero?¡±


    ¡°In our school uniform,¡± I quip, ¡°No. I also don¡¯t care for superheroes.¡±


    ¡°What, no way, every teenager is obsessed with superheroes, what¡¯s your reasoning behind that?¡±


    ¡°I think that it denormalizes just ordinary behavior,¡± I tell him with a smile. Charles scrunches up his face.


    ¡°Man you¡¯re super odd,¡± he states again. Scratching the back of his hair and giving off an airy laugh to expel nervousness. He gives a crooked smile, while fidgeting with his jacket zipper.

 Magi 1

    Sometimes I wonder if they even do a thorough investigation before they give me a case. Zooming into the photo. Rotating the photo around. The department says this case is unsolvable, one of those "locked-room" cases with no way in or out. Well besides the front door. The door was locked when the victim was killed.


    This really isn''t that hard to solve.


    There. Looking at chipped paint behind a bookcase. Did someone slide it? Zooming in closer. A potential gap? Well there is their solution, taking my stylus and circling the area, there is your point of entrance right there. That wasn''t so difficult and they didn''t need me to solve that if they had taken the time to properly check the room.


    Opening my emails. Let''s see. Replying to the Department Director. I''ll send the edited photo as an attachment. It''s best that I remain cordial about this, despite wanting to give into my ego and telling them they wasted my time.


    There we go. That¡¯s resolved. They don¡¯t need me to investigate people in an apartment complex. I am not exactly sure why some departments think they need to hire me for cases that require a small amount of deductive reasoning. What¡¯s next? Looking at my desktop at what work I have left. I shouldn¡¯t complain too much, it¡¯s still money and employment.


    The hotel door opens. Who - ah it¡¯s only Wolf, ¡°Working hard?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Does solving four cases in a row count as working hard?¡± I ask her.


    Wolf laughs briefly, ¡°Were they too easy for you?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s just say that they didn¡¯t need a ¡°respectable genius¡± private detective to solve them,"


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± Wolf smiles, she sits on the edge of the couch. I¡¯ve really only known her as the peak of professional. She usually wears well fitted suits, though her tennis shoes seem to betray her professional exterior, she keeps her long, black hair up in tight ponytails. She¡¯s not the one who funnels my caseload, so I don¡¯t see why she would apologize to me.


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    ¡°You¡¯re not the one offering me jobs,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°Speaking of your Father,¡± she notices me giving her a look, she clears her throat, ¡°Right. Um. Well, money has been wired into your account.¡±


    I don¡¯t need to be told this. I already know. I got the text message about it while she was on the phone in the other room. Wolf pauses, ¡°Do you have any more cases?¡±


    ¡°I have a few cases left,¡± none of them too exciting to be honest. I am sure if anyone heard my actual thoughts about detective work, they would criticize me for ¡°not taking this seriously¡±. I am not looking for anything to tickle my sense of justice or to stick it to those criminals. I prefer figuring out the reasons why. Why someone goes to the lengths they do and the method they choose. We haven¡¯t had a really puzzling case in a long while, yet my fatherly privately works through a network of closed cases.


    Wolf crosses her legs, ¡°Hey.¡± she speaks up.


    I watch her, ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever,¡± she pauses, ¡°Considered going out for a bit. Maybe just around the block. You stay inside a hotel almost every day.¡±


    Height of professional, so says the agency. She knows I can¡¯t do that, right?


    ¡°That¡¯s a joke?¡± I ask her.


    Wolf inspects me, ¡°I know your circumstances. But.¡± she pauses, ¡°This.¡± she looks around briefly, even standing up to listen first, she silently walks to the front door of the hotel room, she says nothing. I can understand what she¡¯s trying to convey. This isn¡¯t my hometown, and no one knows me here.


    We¡¯re not even going by our given names. She figures we are relatively safe here then?


    ¡°What did he say?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°He said he trusts my judgement,¡± Wolf responds, walking away from the front door, ¡°You cannot always want to stay in a hotel.¡± she pauses again, ¡°in a town you¡¯ve never been born in.¡±


    ¡°And I presume you¡¯ll be providing me the security, if we went out?¡± I ask her with a smirk.


    ¡°You¡¯re a very cautious person,¡± she means for my age.


    ¡°We know that we have to be,¡± I remind her.


    ¡°So, do you not trust my judgement?¡± she ask with a raised eyebrow.


    ¡°I am trying to determine your reasoning, before I trust your judgement on the matter,¡± I tell her.


    Wolf laughs for a second. She sighs, ¡°I just don¡¯t want you to miss out on things. Sure, I am here for your protection, but that doesn¡¯t mean I should treat you like a robot.¡±


    ¡°Some would argue that empathy of yours for a client would be troublesome and ineffective in your work,¡±


    ¡°Well, fire me then, if something comes of it,¡± Wolf shrug and smiles.


    Perhaps she doesn¡¯t have the best judgement. It wasn¡¯t like I was going to tell her upfront that I don¡¯t trust her judgement. But she sees some valuable importance in getting out of the hotel room. Very well, I guess.


    ¡°Fine, let¡¯s see what comes of it,¡± I tell her.

 Intermission: Oakside City

    [Green]Bus Lane: Oakside wasn''t always a bustling city built for cars. Adapting it''s city layout to accommodate it''s already robust public transportation.


    [Red]Bus Loading Zones: Indication of bus loading zones at notable bus stations.


    [Blue]Emergency Zone: Indicator for Emergency Vehicles


    Uptown: As Oakside expanded over the years, more money was placed into newer constructed buildings and infrastructure. Uptown is a compact residential area with many luxury apartment complexes and condos. It has the largest central park in town Pearl Park.


    Midtown: Midtown is the bustle and hustle of the city. It is the largest residential area of Oakside. As well as it''s the home of the largest, luxury shopping district, praised in column magazines across the county. Beachwood Shopping District is a highly sought at tourist attraction for it''s number of classy, luxury department stores. Intermingled with these department stores, are your typical businesses, real estate, a law firm, and several other businesses.


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    Downtown: With all of Mid and Up town''s glitz and glam, few seek out the few hot spots that Downtown offers. A smaller residential area, and a small shopping district to a bus stop. Downtown is a place with a seedy nighttime and little to no praise. Few notable places in Downtown include The Grindhouse a Horror Theme''d Coffeeshop and and Washed Ashore an antique shop run by the same family for the last 20 years.


    School: Oakside has six schools. Three are located in it''s downtown and one of them is a combined school. Their middle school and high school share the same building Grover Memorial High and Middle School. The community college sits in downtown''s heart, Oakside Community College. In Midtown the Elementary and Middle School share the same lot, but the middle school was recently built. Little Sapling Elementary and Bayside Middle School. While Ashwood High School sits on the edge of uptown.

 Quinn 2 - Downtown - Avenue View Apartments

    "This is where you live!" Charles sounds surprised. Where did he expect me to live? I couldn''t think of anywhere else we could go. Kids our age do this all the time, hanging out at each other''s places. I''ve never really had someone over before, a common complaint of Mom''s even though she''s rarely home to know this or not. Charles continues to study the apartment complex.


    "Is it a problem?" I ask him.


    "No, not really, it''s just," Charles looks around, "kind of the shit part of town."


    Ah, that. The unfairness of our society, that there even is a classification of a good part of town and shit part of town.


    "You get used to it," I punch in the code to the front door entrance to get inside the complex.


    "No wonder you don''t believe in superheroes," he states.


    What he means to say is that because I live in the area with the highest rate of crime and hospitalizations, with the sounds of gunshots ringing in alleyways at night, that it has somehow affected my belief that there is something or someone to save us. Though none of that really plays into that fact. I have believed that since I was a kid, watching kids like Charles get bullied and everyone standing around and watching.


    Waiting for that Someone or Something to help. Instead of being that Someone or Something. I cannot be that Someone or Something because I don''t have the power, the influence, the physicality to be that Someone. I do what I can. But a Someone or a Something usually comes from a higher position.


    I point out a stain in the front entrance carpet, "That''s where someone was shot and died." I tell him.


    Charles makes a face, "How can you say that so casually."


    "Death is death, it''s something that happens," I tell him, leading him to the elevator, "but there was no one who came for him and there definitely wasn''t someone to come save him. The stain is a reminder of how complacent we are when we wait for someone to be the savior."


    "I''m starting to consider the rumors about you,"


    Pressing the button to the third floor, "What''s that?"


    "Well kids in class say you''re kind of creepy,"


    That''s acceptable. I understand. I am only creepy because I don''t really adhere to their societal standards. I don''t believe in heroes and I don''t believe in saviors. I am pretty all right with violence and stressful situations. They see all of this and the only real way they have to describe this is creepy, it doesn''t bother me. It won''t stop me from trying to help them from a situation. And either they will walk into my apartment with me after school or they won''t.


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    "This is it," I tell him standing in front of 3 - D1.


    "I''ll admit, I am not having really nice thoughts," Charles tells me.


    "Thank you for your honesty, I appreciate it," turning the key and letting the door swing open, pointing to the shoe rack on the small tile foyer. Charles pauses, he looks around, to the flat screen TV mounted to the wall. Mom worked hard for that TV, the dining table we got for free from her sister; it is cleaned off and clear of debris. The wood is protected by a beautiful floral printed cloth tablecloth. The futon is sleek, like a lounge chair in the center of the living room with black pleather and a steel frame, with black and white striped accent chairs sitting at opposite sides of the coffee table.


    "It''s, uh, cozy," Charles admits, "Your parents decorated this place, then?"


    "Mom and I," I tell him.


    "Your Mom and you?" Charles shifts uncomfortably, "Can I ask where your Dad is?"


    "On the bookcase," I laugh, pointing to Dad''s urn.


    Charles'' cheeks go flush from embarrassment, "Sorry for asking."


    "It''s fine, it hurts, but I can talk about it now," I tell him.


    Charles looks around, "What does your Mom do?"


    "Mom," I close the door behind us and lock it, "she does a lot of jobs."


    "Oh," Charles responds, "I thought. Well you have a TV."


    "She worked really hard to save up for that, it was our Christmas present to us," I tell him with a smile, "It''s fine."


    Charles nods, "This is the first time I have gotten to really know you, Quinn. Still think you''re pretty odd."


    "Let''s go into my room,"


    "So your Mom sleeps," he looks at the futon.


    She could only afford a one bedroom, and last year she made a promise to me that I would be able to get my own room, because she got a raise. Truth is that most people would look down upon someone working as a receptionist, I think my Mom does what she can with the work available to her. I appreciate that she gave me a room of my own, but it''s still unfair that she doesn''t have a room of her own.


    Charles pauses entering my room.


    He wears a lot of his emotions on his sleeve and probably the reason why he''s such a target at school. I can be aware of why they pick him out, even if I don''t agree with it.


    "Hey, uh I forgot there''s something I have to do at home," Charles tells me nervously. I expected as much.


    "That''s fine, see you around school," I tell him, "I really liked walking home with you."


    "Yeah, uh, me too," his eyes twitch to a poster on my wall, "See you around Quinn."

 Quinn 3 - Downtown - Avenue View Apartments

    Since Charles left not even around 4:30, I was able to get homework done by 5:30. Started dinner around 6. Mom should be home in a few minutes. Hopefully Mom will be able to relax after a busy day at work. Potato wedges are done, and nice and crispy too. I keep telling Mom if she wants them crispy like this, she has to boil the potatoes first. Taking them out of the oven, while they are hot, I''ll dust them with the parmesan and parsley.


    The door opens, Mom is home. She''s carrying a grocery bag while slipping off her flats. She fixes her brown, wavy hair out of her face before smiling, "I bring a rotisserie chicken."


    "I made those potato wedges you like," I tell her.


    "You''re such a little helper," she tells me, walking over to the counter, placing the little plastic container onto it, "Let me get into home clothes." she says. Heading down the hallway.


    "How was work?" I have to raise my voice a little.


    "Oh, you know," Mom has to shout from the bathroom, "the usual."


    Turning around to grab plates, to put the potato wedges on.


    "They treat me like I don''t have a single brain cell. What about you sweetie?" she returns pretty quickly in sweatpants and a pink t-shirt, "How was school?"


    "I made an almost friend," I tell her with a laugh, handing her a plate to serve herself some chicken.


    "An almost friend, what turned them away? How boring and normal we are?" she ask, while finding a knife.


    "No, I''m sure it was Bob," I tell her.


    "Oh, that silly thing," Mom scoffs.


    "I probably should have warned him that I asked for the family pet to be kept, so he can be with us forever,"


    "Maybe," Mom tells me, walking over to the living room, turning on the TV, "What do you want to watch sweetheart?"


    "It''s your night to choose," I remind her.


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    "You''re right," she says, while waiting for me to grab some chicken, "How did you meet this friend?"


    I grab a smile slice, in order to join her on the couch to not keep her waiting.


    "He''s bullied a lot at school, and I attempted to help," I tell her.


    "Just like your Father," Mom states, though I don''t really care for the comparison as much these days. I already share the same face as his, it''s a constant reminder of who he was. His straight hair, with her brown hair color. Father¡¯s narrow nose bridge, her wide nostrils, his eye color, with her half monolid almond eyes. I am many halves of both of them.


    "I just feel like people shouldn''t stand around waiting for someone to help, if you want to help, you should do so,"


    "You''re so right," she says this while turning up the volume in order to drown out our neighbors beside us, they always fight during this exact time. The crashing sounds of furniture, heavy feet. The vitriol of an angry man, spewing to his supposed wife that she is a bitch and a whore. The constant reminder that we are hypocrites. Waiting for someone to help. Though Mom would like to remind us we have called the police in the past. That Shit Part of Town just makes these things normal. It''s so normalized that heroes don''t save people who aren''t worthy to be saved.


    Mom''s chosen to watch one of her drama serial shows. We''re only on Season 2 right now. It''s one of those "idealistic" worlds, where drama is set up in this way that feels eerily familiar to a monarchy set dressed in the modern world. Where problems are resolved through some social elite, and all they really worry about is how someone presents them in a social conversation. I think a world like that is something people wish they could escape to. Where the Poor don''t really exist, instead everyone is part of a social elite. And every problem is settled through some sort of house dispute.


    "So," Mom speaks over the TV.


    "Mmm, what?" I ask her.


    "I was asked on a date," she tells me.


    "Fun,"


    "I declined,"


    "Why?"


    "My heart is still married to your father," she tells me, "I know that was seven years ago, but he never left me."


    "Well," I look at the bookcase. Mom also looks behind her, she laughs.


    "I guess you have a point," she tells me.


    "You should do whatever makes you feel happy when you''re ready to,"


    "How did you end up so smart?" she asks me, she frowns slightly, "I''m sorry. If I ever made you feel like you had to be an adult before you were ready."


    I shake my head no, it really wasn''t that. Dad died and it wouldn''t be fair to watch Mom take on all that responsibility by herself. It would be stressful, I knew a kid in middle school where something like that happened and their parental figure ended up resenting them just a little. Because they had to do all of that work on their own. All of that care. I just think it''s expectant to pick up roles that weren''t your own, that are missing. If it means cooking dinner, doing the dishes, and picking up more work at home, then so be it.


    "I chose this," I tell her.


    She leans her head into mine, the way a cat may bunt you, "It''s okay to be a kid from time to time too." she tells me softly.


    I know this.

 Quinn 4 - Downtown/Midtown - Midtown Shopping District

    It''s Saturday, and with Mom at work I often have to find my own entertainment. Though that really isn''t hard, I might not have a lot of friends at school, but it simply means I have more time to engage in my hobbies. Though honestly in this society no one really has a hobby and I don''t have any future plans after high school. There isn''t really much I aspire to be and anything that someone might aspire to be doesn''t necessarily need that higher education to get there.


    There are some things that simply cannot be taught, I believe. Art is one of those things. Of course academia will tell you that there is, though I think that''s more them teaching you palatable. When Dad was alive he used to say I had talent that no one would cultivate because it wasn''t what modern audiences considered tasteful. I would challenge his philosophy if Charles hadn''t walked out of the house yesterday because of my art.


    Maybe it really was the taxidermied remains of Bob, he sits on the windowsill. He technically was my first pet, I got to pick him out from the shelter, he already had the name. He''s kind of like a stuffed pet you keep around, and sew back up no matter how ratty he gets. Except, well he''s taxidermied, and so he won''t unravel like a stuffed bear might.


    Mm. This sketch is good enough I think, for now. Maybe I want some better pens to line the final product. Perhaps I should go to the office supply store.


    Do I have enough money to get another journal, as well? Why am I buying journals, when I have plenty of them sitting on my shelf? They just sit on the bookshelf as decoration, with no purpose.


    Getting up from my office chair, I wonder if Richard is working today. I go there regularly enough that I am a Customer Friend. We''re not necessarily the same age group, we''ve never really hung out outside of his workplace.


    Leaving my bedroom, and searching for my jacket. It''s still brisk and chilly despite it being April, but it will warm at the end of the month soon. Spring is still cool, even in the city, and Summers aren''t too hot. In fact April may be my favorite time of the year because of all the things beginning to bud and bloom.


    Some flowers choose to bloom too early and die fairly soon after mid April snow dust Oakside Park in snow that never sticks, turning the roads slick with ice. The tarmac looks like glass whenever that happens. Then the snow fades, and the weather slowly begins to turn warm with chilly winds.


    Made it to the bus stop right across the apartment. No one really complains about the transportation of Oakside, if you live in midtown it''s even easier to catch a bus.


    Getting on the bus, simply waiting before departure for people to arrive and paying for my ride sitting closest to the front without taking disabled seating.


    "Stop it," a woman in the back is talking to a man. Just from the view of the window from an angle, he''s placed his hand on her leg, she removes it. He sighs, exasperatedly.


    The bus lurches forward. Closing its doors.


    "Come on, don''t be so frigid," he whispers.


    The bus begins to move.


    "We''re on the bus," she whispers quietly.


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    In truth I am a hypocrite, I am sure plenty of people, the ones sitting next to them have a clearer picture than I do. Most people don''t respect when a teenager intervenes in adult matters, I would have no power, no sway, no influence. In fact I''d be more seen as a pest, than courageous or brave for sticking up for the woman. The ones sitting behind them definitely can see what is happening and each of them are waiting for someone to stand up and say something, but no one will because they are all waiting for someone else.


    "Fine, I was just touching your leg," the man huffs, "Can''t put my hands on my girl now in public."


    "I just don''t want to be touched right now,"


    "You never want to be touched,"


    Heart racing. I want to say something. What would I say? My stop is coming up. Say something. Like you spoke up to those bullies last night. No one else will say anything. Pulling the string to signal the bus driver I want to get off at the next stop. Standing up, looking in their direction. The man and I exchange a look, "She asked you not to touch her." I tell him.


    "This is a private matter," he snaps, that''s to be expected in this situation. Luckily, the bus stops just as he''s standing.


    Turning around sharply. Rushing out of the bus before there is a scene. Quickly heading down the sidewalk away from the bus stop.


    Looking behind me one more time.


    I am glad that man on the bus didn''t follow, he probably couldn''t have anyway.


    Midtown isn''t necessarily much different from the lower part of town, it has a few nicer buildings, a few more designer stores, everything is down the strip in midtown. Even in the chilly April weather, that is inconsistently cold to slightly warmer, people sit in little gated patios in front of bougie eateries enjoying the sunshine even if it comes with a gust of chilly wind from time to time.


    Walking the strip, I love walking past every little shop, looking into big display windows. Most of Oakside retains its historical architecture, and despite massive designer stores, some smaller shops have remained. The little bookshop, The Spine Mine, with green trim on the outside and a white body, looks like a little building established back in the industrial age, despite it''s renovations and a cafe addition.


    Blackboard Blues is the store I am looking to visit today, it too carries it''s industrial revolution startup days in its architecture as well, a little blue building sandwiched between several other historical buildings, facing a more minimalist modern cafe across the street.


    Entering the store, there is a little old bell on the door that chimes whenever someone enters. The floor is made of wood that makes hollow sounds when you walk on it. As I expected, Richard is here. He''s a tall man, with wiry red hair that reminds me a bit of copper wires. He smiles at me, "Plan to buy another journal that you won''t write in." he teases, "you''re a talented kid I am sure you could come up with some pretty interesting tales."


    "I''ve thought of a few," I tell him.


    "Do tell?" Richard looks curiously over the counter.


    "It''s my secret," I tell him.


    "A secret, huh," Richard smiles, "Too dark for an old man like me then?" he laughs.


    "Maybe," I tell him.


    Richard shakes his head, "All right, keep your secrets. What brings you in?"


    "0.1mm pens," I tell him, "I just finished a sketch and thought the final project would look better lined."


    "Can you tell me about your drawing? Why don''t you gloat like a normal kid?" Richard laughs.


    "I think that diminishes the value of art, we''re so used to society when creating something showing it off. Believing it to have no other intrinsic value than to seek public sight. I think the value of something is diminished the moment that sole purpose becomes to show others and gain external validation from others,"


    "External validation can be just as comforting,"


    "I just don''t see my value based on other''s opinions,"

 Magi 2 - Location Redacted

    And sent. I wish they didn''t need me, if they looked more carefully - The scraping just beneath the windowsill tells me they used a tool to gently pry the window open. Almost as if they were aware of the houses exploit, which also means that whoever murdered that young woman knew her or knew about her houses'' faulty building structure. These are not cases that need and I quote from an excerpt of an email exchange; "greatest mind".


    Not that I really ascribe myself to that kind of imagery, or that I inherently agree with it, but it is the reason these departments request me by name. Their real issue is a case of not so careful checking.To some Real Cases are the ones that are page turning tales. What they fail to realize is those cases are rare. Unfortunately those are the cases that people speak about, and speak about you. I wish they wouldn''t.


    I don''t think that I would ever wish for something horrible to happen. I rather "minor" crime like this happen, then say the New Year Killer. He was rather impossible to catch, because he only killed on New Years Eve. And never in the same city. First victim was in Eastport, the second victim, a whole 3 hour flight away in Saltfield.


    That really was my breakthrough case I guess. I theorized that he either had a job that had him travel a lot, but every year? Or that he had some sort of leisure money, a trust of some sort. Retired, likely to have the free time to move around, because constantly being uprooted all the time means someone has a very faulty foundation consistently.


    Eventually it led us to an Edward Moore. Retired, had a lot of money left in a trust after both parents were killed on New Years, upstanding guy, the type you would never suspect. Constantly moving from state to state, choosing his victims based more on what seemed aesthetically pleasing to him at the time. It was tricky to pinpoint someone like Edward because his victims never had a clear profile, there was never a sticking detail that gave away a certain type, there was never a detail that he was limited in any shape or form when it came to travel.


    Most people who kill are stuck in a specific region, unless they have the freedom to roam, it''s why it is so easy to pinpoint them. But Edward, moved so much and only killed once a year at every start of the year it was hard to determine where or who he would strike next. It''s cases like that give you a reputation, a name, and even then I was just fortunate to put together a very sparse jigsaw puzzle.


    I don''t wish for people like Edward. But people wish for Edwards. It''s why I am contacted so very often. Because people think they have an Edward on their hands. Someone cunning and hard to pinpoint, though often the case is that they miss little tiny details. If they looked more critically they would realize that this is work that any detective could complete.


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    "Did you crack the case?" Wolf ask, peering away from her book.


    "The window has a faulty lock, the killer came in through what appears to be a locked room, via exploiting the faulty lock with a small tool to pry the window open. Which indicates premeditated, and planned, especially not to leave a "trace" of them around," I tell her.


    "So, anyone could have figured that out," Wolf responds, she places her book on the coffee table. MindGames: How to Win the Mental War


    "Just required a closer look at the chipping at the windowsill," I tell her.


    "I see," Wolf responds, "Which case is your favorite?"


    "Explain the question,"


    "Well, I mean," she takes a second, "The New Year Killer was your breakout case. But there was the Aristocrat. And then there was, the Tea Room Poisoning."


    There''s more than that, but I understand what she''s trying to ask. I wouldn''t say that any of them are my favorite cases. I admit despite doing this work, I don''t like to revel in their gruesome negativity. I rather not entirely reflect on them because they only really bring to the surface upsetting imagery.


    "I don''t think I have a favorite case," I tell her, "They are all upsetting in their own ways and to define a favorite case, I think strips them of their humanity. That might sound strange, but in the end of the day we''re still uncovering the secrets of people who died in horrific ways due to the malicious machinations of certain minds. If I just start looking at them from that point of view, I would worry that I would no longer be focused on the cases to resolve the unnecessary death of an individual or individuals, but only look at them through the lens of a case."


    "I didn''t expect an answer like that from you,"


    "I know it''s easy for those who work in this type of career to grow numb in order to cope with the constant bombardment of negative imagery, but I think that numbness then dehumanizes the victims, it merely becomes another puzzle to solve. And while, yes I will admit my own shortcomings when it comes to this, that even I crave an exciting case. I have to find some way to remind myself that living, breathing humans, were behind these cases,"


    Because once you lose that you grow numb to these things, you lose your humanity. I have seen it with my very own eyes, officers who just look at a case as just another case, just another body, just a part of the job and that might be a perfectly acceptable way for them to cope, but it also means that caseloads like the ones I am sitting on sit in a backroom because it''s "just another." There are countless people waiting for an answer, a reason, who have been stored in a backroom because of this.


    I think this job requires some level of empathy, in order to recognize what you''re really solving is the unjust way someone has been removed from a picture.

 Quinn 5- Midtown - Midtown Shopping District

    Walking around the back of the store, I find it funny that there are so many pens for nearly every occasion. Technically a highlighter is a pen depending on its use, detail pens for art, pens for writing, pens for editing. They are nearly as varied as colored pencils in that sense. Reaching for the pack of art pens I need, something catches my eye.


    It''s a fountain pen, sitting in a lone bin of solo ballpoints. Picking it up, I feel drawn to it, the barrel is a glossy shiny, an emerald green varnish on wood. The tip of the fountain pen is gold, and there is golden filigree on the barrel creating an interesting patterning. Almost like golden marbling. This seems so expensive and yet it''s sitting in the dollar bin for cheap pens. Should I? Maybe. What if it is more expensive than I can afford? But it''s so intricately designed.


    Grabbing the pack of fine point pens and holding onto the fountain pen, circling around the maze-like path of the pen aisle and spit back out to the front line. Richard is standing around the register, looking bored. It''s just another slow Saturday.


    "Got what you need?" he ask me.


    "Yes," I tell him, "Can I get a price check on this?" I place down the fountain pen, Richard''s eyes go wide for a second, he whistles.


    "Where did you find that?" he ask.


    "In the dollar pen bin," I tell him, "It seems too expensive for that."


    "Yeah, let me see if I can look it up," he picks it up to search for a barcode, "It has no barcode. Let''s see." he begins to type into his computer, "Green fountain pen." he takes a second. Scrunching up his face in thought, "The only one I can find on our sight. Looks." he turns the screen around to show a cheap plastic 9 dollar green pen, "Tell you what. Just take it someone might have dropped, but there is no name on it or anything."


    "Can I just take it?" I ask him.


    Richard looks at me, "Out of all the things karma could get you for, it''s not going to be a fountain pen."


    "All right," I am also wondering what kind of tale I can tell with it. Thinking about the journals at home all waiting for pen to paper. Maybe I can write about that. This seems like that type of pen. Doesn''t it? A story about karma, just desserts.


    Setting the pens I can pay for in front of him and pocketing the green one.


    "Already have an idea?" he ask me.


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    "Yes,"


    "Going to tell me what about,"


    "Oh just a story about karma," I tell him.


    "You''re going to have to let me read some of it sometime,"


    "Maybe,"


    "So stingy, for that pack, we''re looking at 12.35," Richard states, taking out the twenty I earned at the end of the week for helping out around the house.


    "I rather not have others put value to my work,"


    "You''re the weirdest kid I know, here''s your change, 7.65," Richard smiles, "Can you give me a little hint about the story?"


    "It involves someone eating their own words," I smile back.


    "That''s so metaphoric I am not even sure what you''re trying to convey,"


    "That''s the point, thank you," I grab my pack of pens and change.


    Normally I would stay and chat, but I haven''t been hit with inspiration like this in a long while. There is excitement, even anticipation to go home and attempt to tell the tale of karma. I love finding something that sparks a bit of eagerness in me, something that inspires me. I want to get home as quickly as I can to jot this down, why didn''t I bring a journal with me? I don''t know. I guess I just didn''t consider finding such an interesting item.


    Walking back to the bus stop, I take the pen out. It''s too weird for someone to have dropped it, but it also isn''t an item in their inventory. It has no name on it. And no one came back to claim it? As someone considered creative, it''s funny how an object like this sparks curiosity, where did it come from, who did it belong to? Was it okay for me to simply take it? Yet, I don''t know how to explain it. It doesn''t feel like any of those things either. I am sure someone has found a five or ten dollar bill on the ground and felt it was just luck or meant to be.


    Maybe I was meant to find it? I do wonder if someone will return looking for it, but this isn''t something someone just drops in a dollar bin of cheap pens. If it fell out of someone''s pocket, then wouldn''t it be found on the floor? I''m sure it''s all just purely luck. Stepping onto the bus, and pocketing the pen back into my pocket.


    The driver smiles at me, "Welcome, how''s your afternoon sweetie?" she ask.


    "It''s going well, and yours?" I ask.


    "Mine is going just swell, thank you for asking,"


    This is pretty normal, I technically know her by face, she''s a regular bus driver and I regularly ride the bus. I just can''t recall her name at the moment, since we don''t talk often enough. I don''t think I ever gave her my name, but she always talks to me like this.


    "Well, I hope your day stays swell," I tell her with a smile.


    "Well aren''t you sweet," after paying with my transfer ticket, I found somewhere to sit in the front. I don''t care to sit in the back or feel crowded in the middle. I also want to get home as quickly as possible. Taking out the pen, enamored by it''s golden filigree, it''s marbling design. Spinning it around in the light of the windows pouring out of the bus.


    A story about karma. I know which one to tell and this pen will tell.

 Quinn 6- Downtown - Avenue View Apartments

    "Lukas stop, let go," they are arguing again, just outside of our apartment in the hallway. Lukas, the husband, is a grizzled looking man, with a face full of stubble, and a scar he won by taking a fragment of a grenade to the face in Iraq. So he says, to my Mom.


    He''s the kind of man who dresses disheveled, in a pair of baggy cargos, and a loose t-shirt. While his wife ,Elaine, looks exhausted like she''s been put through the ringer, dark circles under her eyes, and just as disheveled as he looks.She''s wearing a green dress that''s too big for her.


    He''s placing his hand on her bicep tightly, while she barely puts any effort to squirm out. He notices me watching, while I''m also fiddling with my keys to open our front door.


    He clicks his tongue.


    "Mind your own business," he barks at me.


    "Sorry," I mumble. I am a hypocrite. I can stand up to the man on the bus, but in our own hallway I cannot stand up to a man abusing his wife. I am a coward too because I only fantasize the idea that he will get what he deserves. Managing to quickly get into our apartment and closing the door quickly, while locking it.


    I take the pen out of my pocket once again. This is my weapon. Even if my weapon is nothing more than a pen and a journal of all the things I wish I could happen to people like that.


    Slipping my shoes off and squirreling my way into my bedroom. Bob fiercely guards my window. Which journal should I choose for this occasion? Hmm. This one. It is made to look like a tattered leather book, with a strap to hold it tight. It could be someone''s personal account, maybe of the person who lost this pen.


    Taking the journal off the shelf.


    Setting it on my desk, the one my aunt gave me when she was going to throw it out. It''s an antique, made of oak, and has those little cupboards you can pull vertically and not horizontally. What was his name again? I remember we once had to hand them mail that was accidentally sent to us. It was:


    Lukas Holt


    That sounds about right. I am remembering the name behind a plastic film. He should. I hear them shouting again. Arguing in fact;


    He finds himself sitting back in his armchair, after screaming at Elaine again.


    The countless times I have heard the creak of that armchair as he plops into it after they shout. Listening to their footsteps. He''s going to get a drink soon. I hear the armchair creak, today is relatively quiet. Usually they shout at each other nearly all afternoon, someone will throw dishes, or knock down a chair. Today they seem exasperated, exhausted from their countless shouting matches earlier this week.


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    He decides to get himself a drink, as he usually does.


    Then what?


    I can''t help but smile. The very thought makes me feel better. Happier in fact. It sounds like there is a commotion happening in the apartment. The clattering of furniture. Lukas'' heavy footsteps storm around the apartment, while Elaine only lets out a sort of gasp in shock. He utters something, though it sounds muffled for once, "You...." silence, "bitch."


    I have to admire this pen though. It''s probably been one of the better pens I have come across. It''s ink glides across the paper and the ink that does come out, appears in a nice, vibrant teal. The fate I wrote for Lukas isn''t enough. It really isn''t. It feels tame in comparison to some fates I could think of for him. Though I think it''s the most poetic way to go. It isn''t like any of this will come to fruition. It''s just my fantasies.


    My fantasies about the world and wishing those who were unjust, got what they deserved. The world can be so cruel to the Charles of the world. The people who do their best, who are waiting for a hero. They always end up suffering at the hands of universal cruelty. Some die younger than they should have. Some do the right thing after the right thing and die. It''s people like Lukas, it''s cruel people, probably worse than Lukas who deserve the most horrific deaths imaginable.


    I cannot believe I found a pen like this just lying around in a bin of pens. Who would drop such a thing? It writes well, its ink glides, it''s barrel is immaculate. The front door opens. Mom? Home at this hour. Leaving my bedroom, she is slipping off her flats.


    "Thought I''d join you for lunch," Mom smiles, "I have to get back to work soon. But I have about thirty minutes."


    "I can make you a sandwich," I offer, hurrying my way into the kitchen.


    "You don''t have to do so," Mom reassures me, "But I appreciate it."


    "Well, I''m already here," I open the fridge, looking at her, "Guess what I found."


    Mom looks curious while accepting the ingredients I hand her, "What?"


    I show her the pen. Her eyes light up, but she looks a little concerned, "How much did that cost you?"


    "Nothing, it was dropped," I tell her, "And Richard said I could have it."


    "That''s nice of him," she nods, "Turkey sandwiches."


    "Oo yum, we have a swiss cheese as well," I tell her.


    "Very yum,"


    "I was thinking of attempting to see if Charles wanted to come over," I tell her.


    "Isn''t he the kid who fled yesterday?"


    "Yes, but maybe if I explain, he won''t be as afraid," I nod.


    "You just have a talent, honestly people are so sensitive these days about these sort of things,"


    "You don''t find it odd?"


    Mom shakes her head no, while spreading mayo on her bread, "Of course not sweetheart. Men like Stephen King get famous for that sort of thing. I find people''s reaction to it odd. You''re my little morbid prince." Mom places a comforting hand on mine, "It''s people who don''t get you."

 Magi 3 - Location Redacted

    "Ste-


    -her voice calls out.


    It''s one of those ever so repeating dreams. Where you hear someone calling your name, and you''re trapped in a timeline that you cannot change. No matter how many times your subconscious wants to prove that this time it will be different, that you can indeed save them.


    But that''s in the past now, and despite the reminder, you know nothing can change the past. And when you wake up, you''re in the present, the present knowing that they were not saved, and you''re in a town you were not born in, in a hotel room that you''re staying in - unsure how indefinitely it is.


    I am not fond of unpleasant dreams. Especially unpleasant dreams that are reminders of something you should likely forget. Or at least forget until everything is back to "normal". Then again this has been relatively normal for me most of my life.


    I hear her clothes shuffle as she stands up. She walks behind me heading to the couch across from me.


    "Did your nap go well?"


    "Well enough," for naps that tell terrible dreams.


    "Couple cases came in while you were asleep," of course they did.


    Of course many of them will be just another case of someone not looking. Or someone missing a detail. Turning on my tablet, with headlines like, Mysterious Ghost Killer. I assure them, their killer is not a poltergeist. Some of these names. No Fingerprints Crime Scene. I''m sure there is an explanation even for that.


    "Lovely," I mumble, first things first. Caffeine, getting up from the accent chair, Wolf watches me, "Coffee?" I ask her.


    "Sure," Wolf responds, "I can make it. You don''t have to get up."


    "I can manage coffee," I tell her. I haven''t suddenly lost the ability to do so. Besides, it''s a break from, well, busywork. I am only being passed down these cases to pass the time. I think this is His definition of fun for me. Or He thinks this is fun for me. What an odd way to describe it, fun.


    In what way is it fun to comb through cases of murder, rape, breaking and entering. I don''t want to get to this point where I become jaded to it all, but I cannot help sometimes to feel like I am slipping into it''s cynicism.


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    All right. Coffee. To the outside looking in, all of this just seems like an elaborate indefinite stay at a hotel suite with a kitchen and bedrooms, from some rich kid. Except knowing the real reason why I am here, this is slowly becoming a long trip where he sends me his work he doesn''t want to do.


    Now I am just complaining.


    Wolf watches from the couch.


    "Would you like to take a break outside of the hotel?" she''s getting gutsy with security.


    "And risk security? I agreed to it once, yesterday, if we start going out everyday the more risk we expose," I tell her.


    "True," Wolf states, "But you must be bored."


    I admit it was nice to get out. Going somewhere quiet. Even if the park really is just a man made structure built to make people forget they live in the heart of the city, it was nice to simply experience the trees, the sound of whistling wind, and not be paranoid about if someone saw us, if there was a camera or a microphone listening into our conversation.


    Even at a park there is still some risk. But I trusted her believing we are safe for now. The issue is the more we indulge in those little activities, the more threads we leave. And the more someone may pick them up. We cannot risk doing so. It''s less for her security, obviously, but my own. Which makes me feel somewhat selfish. But in truth that''s why she was hired.


    "I can''t take unnecessary risks even if I was," I tell her.


    Wolf scans the coffee table, "Cisco." she mentions.


    She means the man she replaced. Things then get dicey. And Cisco played only by the book. It was a shame to attend his passing. Well, I didn''t attend. I couldn''t without risk, we attended secretly through a computer screen. Which I am unsure if it makes us seem very impersonal or not. Then again he really didn''t know me, only what He told her, just like Wolf doesn''t really know me, besides what she was told. Less risk that way. While we share a hotel suite together, there has to be some professionalism and distance in our relationship.


    "Cisco," I just sort of repeat, finding the name odd to utter.


    Meanwhile, I''ve set the power button on the coffee machine to go.


    "Do guards changing ever bother you?" Wolf ask.


    If I admit the truth, it''s just a chink in my armor that someone could expose. Even she could exploit it. Because there is always a level of distrust with those we hire for this job. There has to be. Lies and secrets passed through a tunnel. If I admit that I wish the job didn''t come with risk, as much as I want to admit that I feel responsible for what happened to Cisco, that''s merely leverage someone could use to try and break me.


    "Not really," I tell her, "How do you like your coffee?"


    "Just a bit of cream," she tells me, "I don''t like it too sweet." she pauses, thinking, "so, you wouldn''t feel a thing if something happened to me?" ah there is the question she''s getting at. I rather not have her die because of me, because of this job. But then again, I don''t really know her intentions in getting to know me. Any ounce of trust I give her, could be something used later on.


    "It''s your job," I tell her, I don''t like having to respond that way, but it''s probably the better answer, "just like solving cases is mine."


    Wolf just smirks, "My job." she laughs under her breath.

 Quinn 7 - Downtown - Avenue View Apartments

    Something has happened outside of our apartment, the cops are investigating Holt''s apartment. Apparently Lukas has collapsed.


    Mom and some other neighbors are discussing the situation in the hallway in quiet whispers.


    Catching brief statements from the police, "Not so suspicious causes."


    "I heard he had an allergic reaction," whispers one of the neighbors.


    An allergic reaction?


    "How did he die?" I ask the neighbor. She gives me a look, ever since we moved in Wendy thinks I am a little odd. She turns her head to my Mom, and then back at me.


    "I heard he choked to death," Wendy, the apartment scout, an older woman, with three cats, lives alone, and I only know her because she often likes to talk to my Mom about infidelity, and other neighborly affairs. Choked to death, like? That''s just - coincidence, right?


    "Quentin, how about you go inside?" Mom knows when I''ve stayed out my welcome with the neighbors. They think I am a little weird, but that''s simply because I have an interest outside of the norm. I won''t argue.


    Choke, allergic reaction, like? Heading back into our apartment. Like, what was written? That''s silly. Stuff like that doesn''t happen in the real world, does it? Did I do that? Or? What''s different and new, the pen? Maybe. It''s circumstances are odd, and unusual, but there is no such thing as magical pens? Slipping back into my bedroom. The journal, maybe? Or maybe I did it just from the power of thought? No. It also just could be coincidence?


    While the neighbors all gossip outside, I guess the only way to figure it out would be - to figure it out? The scientific method, is there even a scientific method for this? To test the Pen theory, I''ll have a control Pen. And to test the Journal theory, I''ll have a control Journal. That seems the best. Now to find someone who deserves to die.


    The internet is good for that. I''ll find someone really bad. A quick search about arrested people who have done something violent.


    Let''s see. Opening the search bar: Recent murders. No. Recent arrest will probably have better results.


    Five in the major news and one is a current ongoing case. Hayes Bentley, arrested for sexual assault and battery of woman he picked up at a bar. Seems the court is considering giving him a lighter sentence which proponents are arguing against. And another is Vincent Suthers, arrested for attempted robbery of a cash register in a gas station. Both are from Oakside.


    Well, as much as I don''t care for Vincent Suthers actions, I think that people would be happy if Hayes Bentley died. I think to prove whether it is the journal, or whether or not it is the pen. I''ll write in the journal underneath Lukas'' karma, with a regular pen, and in the new journal with the bin pen. Oh I need to find a control person, just in case it''s my own thoughts that willed Lukas dead.


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    Here we go. A Micheal Thomas, arrested for raping his coworker. Well, I''ll just think about wishing him to die. I wonder how I would like him to die. Since he''s already going to jail, I think it would be best if they got into an accident on the way to prison. And died, while everybody else lived.


    So, Vincent Suthers. Oh! There is a video on Youtube. Many of them are titled Idiot Robber Fails, Ultimate Criminal Fails. So, he''s just a bumbling fool.


    What is the best way for someone who is already getting ridiculed to die? Maybe he slips down some steps, in the courthouse, breaking his neck.


    Now onto Hayes Bentley. He doesn''t seem to be too nice of a man and his case is being covered quite extensively on the news. It''s garnered attention because despite his string of sexaul assaults and battery to women, some criticize the light sentence he''s getting is due to the fact that he may have connections to the police department as a relative. Though the court denies that is even the case.


    People are asking him to be put into prison for life, while the court wants to give him fifteen. Someone like that is protected by the law, despite the outpouring of objections. Looking at the pen I discovered today, a part of me hopes that it is special. But the skeptic inside of me is telling me Lukas'' death is merely a coincidence. I''ll write in a fresh journal with the mysterious pen.


    Putting the Mysterious Pen to the paper.


    Someone like Hayes is the type of person who thinks they can go do something terrible to people because he knows he can get away with it. I mean clearly he is. It''s very clear the court is in his favor despite the way that he treats people. Stalking frightened, inebriated women home, and taking advantage of them while they are drunk.


    That is obviously a crime, and obviously a punishable offense. These are the types of people I hate the most. They remind me of how cruel the world can be, when people who don''t deserve to die, die in the cruelest of ways, and the people like Hayes get to get away with doing terrible things. I think he deserves to suffer. Suffer the way he made other people suffer. He needs to die in a painful way. One that is grueling. One that will make him confess his cruelty and beg for mercy at the end of the day.


    What would be that? Looking online won''t help me. I think it has to come from within. Something - accidental. Even if I wished him to be poisoned to death, that would probably make people suspicious of each other. But it couldn''t be something too nice. What are some of the most common ways to die? Well, according to this data, it would be a heart attack, followed by cancer.


    Maybe.


    That will work.


    "Quinn," Mom has returned.


    -in my bedroom, I am finishing something up," I respond.


    "That''s okay sweetheart," Mom sounds like she''s smiling reassuringly to me through her tone, "How about I order a pizza for dinner tonight?"


    "Only if we can afford it,"


    Back to it. Hayes Bentley, you''re going to face your own karma now.

 Quinn 8 - Downtown - Avenue View Apartments

    Mom''s in the living room, waiting for the door. She came home a few hours ago and ordered pizza. She watches me for a brief moment, she fixes her glasses adjusting them on her face, "Are you okay?" she ask me, "You were probably home when Lukas died."


    I want to tell her I think he got what he deserved and I don''t think she would disagree either with me, but I also know that''s not the most appropriate response. I don''t know how to feel about the situation, if the Pen or the journal or my mind is truly magical in a way that allows the reality of terrible people suffering for their misconduct, then the truth is I feel -elated, excited about the possibilities.


    "I didn''t know him well enough," I tell her.


    "That''s true," Mom pauses, she frowns, and looks at the coffee table, "He really wasn''t a nice man, was he?"


    I wonder what she would say, "Do you think he deserved to die?"


    Mom takes a second, she studies me briefly. She folds her hands in her lap before smiling, "I won''t answer that I assign people to death, but for whatever reason the universe was kind and set Elaine free."


    I''m glad Elaine is free. Maybe now she will find someone who can support her and truly love her. I think I can agree with my Mom''s point of view, while I do believe he deserved death, I do think the universe might be kind to give me some power to stop people like Lukas. I don''t think I can tell her that, even if I confirm whether or not that is true.


    "I can agree with-


    -what has the world come to," Mom interjects suddenly, looking at her phone, she seems taken aback.


    "What''s going on?" I ask her.


    "Hayes Bentley has been announced dead," Mom frowns, "He was found dead in his cell."


    "What does the article say?" I ask her.


    "He was complaining of chest pain that evening," Mom tells me, "and they thought he was just trying to get out of his trial. He was found collapsed on the ground in his cell, with blood in his mouth. They had to investigate whether the death was suspicious or not. Turns out it was natural because, being a smoker for years, it was only natural a blood clot formed in his lungs."


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    So. If Micheal hasn''t been confirmed dead yet, and neither has Vincent. Then it might be the Pen. I should wait a day before finalizing my conclusion. It''s just as I wrote. Making him taste the same blood those women must have tasted after he beat them near to death.


    "Does it upset you that he''s dead?" I ask her.


    "No, not entirely, he was a piece of shit, that my female coworkers were concerned about as well. Afraid to go out at night when he wasn''t locked up," Mom smiles at me warmly, "Honestly it seems the universe is working in some profoundly kind ways today."


    "So, it''s okay he''s dead?"


    "I am not going to complain that he is," Mom shrugs, there is a knock on the door, "Pizza is here."


    "Should we watch a movie too?" I ask her turning on the TV to our streaming service.


    "Of course," Mom smiles, "and you''ll be okay dear?"


    "I didn''t know Lukas, it doesn''t bother me," she gets up to open the door, "and Hayes Bentley, is definitely a stranger."


    "I''m off work tomorrow, do you want to do something?" she opens the door, greeting the pizza delivery woman with a smile, "here is a tip." Mom hands her a five dollar bill. They exchange their goodbyes. Hayes and Lukas got what they deserved. No one will mourn their deaths and the people that do, are the ones who enable their behavior.


    I think it''s good that they are dead.


    What killed them? Hayes'' death narrows it down to the Pen or more own will. Maybe Vincent didn''t die because I don''t feel he''s done anything to deserve death, maybe the same is with Micheal. I should wait until tomorrow.


    "It just seems like there has been so much death as of late," Mom continues placing the pizza on the coffee table, "The other day they found an old woman, she had no identification, no family claimed her, she stumbled out onto the road and a passing car struck her."


    "That''s sad,"


    "Very," Mom stares at me, "I would be very sad if I lost you."


    I''ve already lost Dad. To be fairly honest, I''m partially numb to his loss. I don''t really know how to feel about his death. He wasn''t entirely a nice person either, nowhere near the levels of Lukas, I simply know that he made Mom very unhappy when he became a bitter person. There was a lot of tension in the house when he was alive. He wasn''t always that way.


    I have memories of good times, or really knowledge of good times. But the man he was and the man he became were two different people. And it''s a mix of feelings, the man he was is the man I mourn and the man I grieved, but the man he became who died, I feel impartial to.


    I don''t know how I would react to losing Mom, until I lost her. I think though I have a very similar sentiment, "I would be too if I lost you." I respond.

 Magi 4 - Location Redacted

    I am aware that I may have created some distance between us after our last exchange. It wasn''t entirely what I wanted to say, if circumstances were different perhaps we could be a bit more open with each other. But our identities are obscured from each other for a reason, she only knows what she needs to know about me, and vice versa. The only person who knows more than us both is likely my father. He is after all my father, his history is my history, and well he hired Wolf.


    He would have had to do a full investigation on her in order to have even been considered for the position or to be trusted with the position. Whereas we both have been kept in the dark about each other. She doesn''t know my birth name, she probably only knows my birth city because of my circumstance, living out of hotels, and moving around from time to time. She doesn''t know my full history. Much like I don''t know her real name, or where she was born.


    She recognizes it''s for security purposes, even though I recognize it is for security purposes, but it doesn''t necessarily mean the callousness helps in a situation where we share a space. I recognize this. Yet, I can''t get comfortable assuming she is someone to trust either.


    Sending yet another email, to another department. I am starting to wonder if any investigative skill is respected these days. Everyone wants a New Year Killer, the Tea Room Poisoner, the Puzzle Box Serial Murder. What they often get is none of these things. I hate the idea that murders and crimes have become sensationalized to the point that departments actively seek having a famous murder or crime. It''s become a competition among departments these days. Everyone wants a famous crime.


    Wolf walks into the living space from her room, "Evening. Working hard?" she asks me.


    "What defines working hard?" I ask her.


    She smirks and shakes her head, "How about I make us something to eat?"


    "Don''t worry about it," I tell her.


    She takes a second, "How do we make this less awkward?" she ask me.


    "I''ll confess," I pause, "I didn''t - mean anything negative by what I said. I know the way it may come off considering my position."


    Wolf processes what is being said, "I get it." she pauses, "This isn''t my first guard job. I''ve watched other people before. Celebrities too. Other agents'' families. I am aware there is a level of distance in our relationship, but well." she looks nervous for a second, she actually interlocks her fingers together in thought, "You''re alone. With a lot more restrictions than them and that can''t be easy. No friends. You spend your entire time working on, well to put it nicely, cases that someone didn''t bother to check. At least my other clients had friends, they had people they could talk to without using burner phones, some of them lived with their spouses or even their parents. You''re sent all over, alone." she pauses, a bit resistant to say the next thing, I watch her lower lip quiver in hesitation, "alone so young."


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    She''s different from the others. Like Cisco or like Malcolm. In some ways I can see that she too is desperately trying hard not to numb herself while on this job, while Malcolm was content not really knowing me. Cisco attempted in similar ways as hers, but there was always this barrier between us. Like trying to get to know someone through a glass box.


    Considering her background, I think she''s used to high security jobs with less security. What I mean is that there were still some elements of personhood. Taking on a code name. Knowing as little as possible. Constantly guarded even among ourselves, can be difficult to deal with.


    But we, my family and I have experienced the unfortunate tragedy of people like Wolf knowing us too well. I would prefer not to be this callous or to keep her at bay. But unfortunately we can never truly trust each other in that way.


    "While I recognize, and appreciate your empathy," I tell her, "I''m used to things being this way. Alone, that is. It''s not something that necessarily bothers me, to be alone. But if it is any consultation, my biggest fear in this situation is not being alone, it''s losing the qualities that make me human and I suspect the same thing for you as well."


    "This position is difficult for you, isn''t it, being your age, and having to be witness to so much death,"


    "It''s something that defines my family, it is what I was born into,"


    Born for it is the better wording.


    Wolf walks into the kitchen.


    "Forgive me for saying this, but that is unfortunate," Wolf tells me.


    "I accept your opinion on the matter, I know some would raise brows at how closely the death of others has surrounded me my entire life,"


    "Well, how do we make living with each other in a hotel, in high security, less awkward and paranoid between us now?"


    "I wouldn''t know the answer to that,"


    "Big famous detective, who solves unusual cases, cannot even figure out how to make another person in the same space less uncomfortable,"


    "Are you uncomfortable?"


    "Only by what I mentioned before, I am only uncomfortable in the situation I find myself, when your father mentioned isolation, I didn''t think this much isolation,"


    "He might have downplayed it a bit,"


    "Do you like this life? Have you ever wanted to adopt a new identity and run away from this?"


    "Someone who would want me dead would eventually recognize me, so, unfortunately I am past the point of no return,"


    "So," she pauses, "will this be your entire life?"


    "Considering, people die, I suspect I merely have to wait till my father is no longer in this present life, the organization is already to be passed down to me, I may still live in the same high security as my father, but I''ll at least have more agents to talk to," I sort of attempt to joke with her. She gives a dry laugh.


    "That''s a morbid thought," she tells me, "still, working more closely in the organization will provide you more security." she shakes a box of noodles, "I''m still making dinner."


    "All the same risk, just more eyes, more security cameras watching," I tell her.

 Quinn 9 - Downtown - Avenue View Apartments

    The entirety of April has been dedicated to figuring out how the Pen works.


    Once I deduced that it was the Pen that was what caused the murders, I then had to figure out it¡¯s perimeters.


    With Hayes and Lukas, I wrote a determining factor of death. The only conclusion after that was to figure out if the Pen would kill someone without a determining factor of death. That¡¯s how I came across Harris. He wasn¡¯t a particularly good person, in fact he had been sentenced in prison for thirty years after committing several murders in the towns surrounding Oakside city. I figured people wouldn¡¯t miss him if he died. It seems there is a bit of randomness with the Pen.


    If I don¡¯t write the determining factor of death, it seems that the factor of death is any nearest logical accident. With Harris, he fell off the rail of the second floor of his cell, and broke his neck. For Morrison, he got hit by a car, getting crushed on impact. I attempted with the Pen with names that I didn¡¯t have a picture of, and it seems I can¡¯t kill anyone I haven¡¯t seen before. Which limits my pool. Since not every person is released on the internet with a picture. I¡¯ll have to find a way to get better information. Someone who might be able to give me better resources.


    But I am just a teenager, how would I get resources like that? Maybe - Mom¡¯s a secretary for a law firm, she¡¯s not a lawyer, but maybe I can use that as a way to gather resources. Mom has a friend there, I¡¯ve only met her a few times. Maybe she can be my backdoor into gathering information. She comes off like a jaded woman, Cassandra that is. I think years of not feeling like she has made much of an impact has worn on her.


    There is a knock on the door. Mom.


    ¡°Sorry for not helping with dinner,¡± I announce, ¡°I was finishing up homework.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to help with dinner if you¡¯re busy with other things,¡± Mom reassures, ¡°I was just making sure that you were okay.¡±


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    Should I tempt it?


    ¡°Could I go to your work?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°What for, don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re interested in doing your Mom¡¯s job,¡± she jokes while I get up from my desk.


    ¡°Would you be mad if I wanted to be a lawyer?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°I would rather you want to be a lawyer than to take someone¡¯s calls for them,¡± Mom smiles, ¡°We can attempt for Saturday. I am sure they won¡¯t mind, but try not to bother anyone.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be as quiet as a mouse,¡± I tell her, ¡°Just because you¡¯re not a lawyer, I still admire you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re very sweet, hun,¡± she retorts while walking back to the dining table, she¡¯s made some premade ravioli, frozen, that she heated up in a butter sauce.


    ¡°This looks really fancy,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°Please, it¡¯s packaged ravioli, the only thing I made was the sauce,¡± Mom sits down, ¡°Do you think you¡¯re going to bring that friend over?¡±


    Well he¡¯s not really a friend. Charles has been avoiding me at school. Which is a shame because I really liked Charles. I think he¡¯s overreacted a little bit to Bob, but he won¡¯t really talk about it. I might try again tomorrow.


    ¡°I will talk to him tomorrow,¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good, you know that I hope you have a lot of friends,¡±


    ¡°Yes, but it¡¯s okay if I don¡¯t, right?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t mean to imply,¡± Mom pauses, ¡°Sorry. I just want to see some kids your age around.¡±


    ¡°You know a lot of them find me weird,¡±


    ¡°I know, it¡¯s a shame, because they don¡¯t see your brightness,¡±


    ¡°I think they do,¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s probably true,¡±


    ¡°I try to be a good person-


    -I¡¯m sure they appreciate it-


    -I think Charles really did appreciate it, I just don¡¯t think, they know me well enough beyond the quiet kid and assume who I am through that,¡±


    Mom smiles, ¡°You know you remind me of your Dad sometimes?¡±


    Swirling a ravioli in sauce on the plate, ¡°Do you miss him?¡± I ask, looking over at his urn on the bookcase.


    ¡°You know sweetie,¡± Mom pauses, ¡°I miss the man I fell in love with. I don¡¯t miss the man who died.¡±


    ¡°I am sorry he became so cold to you,¡±


    ¡°I am sorry you had to be witness to it,¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just sorry that he hurt you,¡±


    I wish there had been more I could have done. Besides -


    ¡°He hurt you too,¡±


    ¡°Yes, but you were with him in a deep way,¡±


    She just watches me, ¡°That¡¯s true. I am sorry either way. At least maybe you can carry on what good qualities he had.¡±

 Magi 5 - Location Redacted

    A week after? Interesting.


    What would my Father say reading this email? Rationally speaking, a string of random accidents doesn''t look more than that. My Father would probably claim that they are looking for something that isn''t there. That all of this is coincedental. And that there is nothing to extrapolate from this information.


    There is a pattern there. Three criminals. Dead within weeks apart from each other. If this was a string of accidents, than why wouldn''t there be other people dead besides criminals? But, how would someone be able to setup a string of accidents? It require a lot of resources and connections. I wonder if we should start with the people there. Witnesses. The one driving the vehicle that killed Morrison. Whether or not Hayes had a prior known medical condition, blood clots can form unexpectedly if he were a smoker.


    My concern with cases like this is that people are too focused on creating fictitious, almost conspiratorial theories, that they miss obvious information. I don¡¯t want to say that we have a case yet, but it certainly gets you thinking. As cold as it sounds, people die in random accidents everyday. Within weeks of each other too. Where it gets weird is when they are all the same sort of people. Killing criminals.


    ¡°Here I thought I walked in to find you asleep,¡± Wolf remarks, she¡¯s back from a break.


    ¡°I am secretly undead,¡± I respond.


    ¡°Yes, I did wonder about that,¡± Wolf tells me, ¡°What has your attention this time?¡±


    ¡°An invisible killer,¡± I state, lifting the tablet up with my left hand and waving it in the air.


    ¡°You¡¯re joking?¡± she ask, she almost sounds skeptical.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I tell her, ¡°We could just be very bored too.¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡± Wolf asks to walk over to the couch in the hotel room.


    ¡°You can look,¡± I offer her the tablet.


    She accepts it and begins to thumb through the emails, ¡°Oh. I see. I love when poltergeists start murdering criminals.¡±


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    ¡°That¡¯s your theory?¡± I ask curiously.


    ¡°A man fell off some rails, he could have not tied his shoes properly,¡± she tells me.


    ¡°I am not sure that¡¯s how it works in Reformation Centers,¡±


    ¡°Ah, you¡¯re right they probably have velcro on their shoes,¡± she pauses, handing me back the tablet, slightly leaning over the couch, ¡°What do you think? Are you going to further investigate?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± I respond, scanning the room for a brief second. There aren¡¯t really any personal belongings here. It¡¯s all mostly the hotel¡¯s own decoration, ¡°My Father would likely say that Florian¡¯s theory is irrational. He¡¯d also likely say that the both of us are giving into superstitious conspiracy theories. He¡¯d probably even call Florian paranoid, most likely. Strangely, I do feel like something is there. That there is more going on, but there is so little evidence to say so that I don¡¯t think anyone can really claim we have anything.¡±


    She looks at me briefly, there is some consideration in her eyes, ¡°So, we¡¯re talking about your Father now.¡±


    ¡°Sorry that may have been too personal,¡± I tell her, ¡°For me, that¡¯s what has defined my current reputation. Sometimes you find evidence in the oddest of places.¡±


    She takes a second, ¡°How did you figure out who the tea room poisoner was, anyway?¡±


    ¡°Perfume,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°Perfume?¡± she asks.


    Yes. Perfume. It stained the tea set. And overpowered the scent of leftover jasmine tea. The kind of cologne you get at one of those boutique scent shops.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t really understand it¡¯s hard to explain,¡± I tell her, ¡°I notice little things like that. It wasn¡¯t really the scent.¡±


    She scrunches up her face in thought, ¡°So, are we going to go chase this poltergeist?¡±


    ¡°I have to wait for more evidence before I can propose it to my Father, I doubt it¡¯s a poltergeist,¡±


    ¡°Speaking of poltergeist, there is one that keeps drinking all the coffee,¡±


    ¡°Not all of it,¡±


    ¡°Does this poltergeist eat food I wonder?¡±


    ¡°Well if he¡¯s a poltergeist, then it would just go through him,¡±


    ¡°Ah, so just like the invisible murder, there is someone who curiously drinks all of the coffee-


    -some of it-


    -and is too translucent to eat food,¡±


    I do wonder why she cares. No, I probably know the answer to that. I wish she wouldn¡¯t. Cisco and Neptune were okay with not knowing who I was, nor did they care much. They were Wardens, their job was to Ward me. That comes off callous. I am sure it does. I rather not have to be callous, but she should probably worry about her job more than worry about what I do and don¡¯t do.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry about this poltergeist much,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°Hmm, that¡¯s true, I was asked to protect this poltergeist from others, not himself,¡± she states pushing herself off the back of the couch and walking to the kitchen, ¡°The problem is my paychecks are too nice to let this poltergeist wither away.¡±


    ¡°But isn¡¯t a poltergeist already dead? Your logic doesn¡¯t make much sense,¡±


    ¡°Undead I thought-


    -pretty sure that¡¯s a vampire,¡±


    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s how I get food into this poltergeist, I need to get him some blood,¡±


    ¡°Maybe you should just consider food,¡± I tell her.


    She looks back at me, she looks a bit perplexed, ¡°Did I say something wrong?¡±


    No. She doesn¡¯t need to know that.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I respond.


    She''s raises her brow, "It doesn''t sound very fine."


    "Just get what you need done, done," I tell her.

 Quinn 10 - Midtown - Legal Legends

    Sitting at the receptionist desk with Mom at the law firm she works at. Legal Legends. The name is kind of funny. Daphne, one of the new receptionists has already introduced herself and offered me a drink, while I help the both of them take calls and set up appointments. I am waiting for Cassandra to get done with an appointment with one of her potential clients.


    ¡°He¡¯s such a diligent worker, Linda,¡± Daphne is making small talk, while I put some files away.


    Mom gives a relatively small smile, ¡°I taught him well.¡±


    Linda. Everyone in the firm seems to call Mom by a given nickname, ¡°That¡¯s because Lin taught him her strong work ethic.¡± Cassandra states returning to the receptionist desk, while waving a distracted goodbye to her client, ¡°We won¡¯t be needing to schedule Amanda down. Small claims court, likely.¡±


    Cassandra smiles at me, ¡°Quentin I haven¡¯t seen you around in awhile.¡±


    ¡°Quinn,¡± I tell her.


    She smiles, ¡°Yes of course, I forgot, can you forgive me?¡±


    Daphne watches the three of us, she fixes one of her black curls, ¡°You know each other?¡±


    Mom smiles, ¡°Casey-


    -Casey?


    -and I go way back, she¡¯s the one who actually helped me land this job,¡± Mom politely states.


    ¡°So, what brings Quinn in?¡± Cassandra ask, ¡°You aren¡¯t looking for legal advice.¡± She smiles and laughs.


    Daphne turns to the olive skinned, sandy blonde, and stocky built Cassandra, ¡°You can give legal advice to a seventeen year old?¡±


    Mom watches. Cassandra makes a face. In truth she is probably the closest person to know my history. Because she knows my Mom.


    ¡°We hope not to give seventeen year olds legal advice,¡± Cassandra smiles at me ¡°Isn¡¯t that right Quinn?¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± I smile back.


    ¡°Quinn seems interested in your job,¡± Mom tells her flatly. Cassandra takes a second, she looks at me. Lowering her posture, leaning her chest onto the receptionist counter.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to be interested in my job Quinn,¡± she tells me more quietly as if to not be heard by anyone else in the office.


    I know how this works. I am supposed to be her quiet, shy son. Who doesn¡¯t talk a lot. Who never overstays his welcome. So I smile. I look away, maybe add a bit of disappointment on my face, ¡°Even if I didn¡¯t want to become a lawyer, I¡¯d like to know more about your job.¡± I state quietly.


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    Cassandra looks over at Mom, ¡°He¡¯s so precious.¡±


    Mom smiles politely, and softly, ¡°Isn¡¯t he.¡±


    ¡°I am about to take my lunch break,¡± Cassandra looks at me, ¡°If you want to join me. Then we can talk.¡±


    Looking over at Daphne and Mom, ¡°Is it okay?¡± I ask.


    Daphne gives a slight awe, ¡°Of course sweetie. You¡¯re not on the payroll.¡± She looks at Mom. Mom of course looks at me. I am not supposed to do anything that will bring attention to myself. But if I want to further my plans as someone who can help those in need, then I might have to. I wonder if Cassandra will tell her or not.


    ¡°Go on,¡± Mom says softly, ¡°You¡¯ve been such a big help. You deserve the break.¡±


    Cassandra gestures to her office with another soft smile on her face. Snaking around the round receptionist desk, to follow her. We enter her office, which is decorated with her accomplishments. Her school diploma hangs crookedly on the wall, though there seems to be no pride in it, she doesn¡¯t take the time to fix it as it hangs downward. Some news clippings of her reputable cases, framed, and hung. Just as saggy on the walls. A bookcase, mostly decorated with Theory of Law books, all though I see a slim paperback romance novel wedged into two big books.


    There is a picture frame on her desk of a woman, with a pixie cut, and two dogs. The frame reads, I love my Sister in white while the wood is pink.


    ¡°You¡¯re very bright Quinn, why are you interested in my work so suddenly?¡± Cassandra ask me.


    ¡°You don¡¯t like your job much,¡± I tell her.


    Cassandra pauses, ¡°Is it that obvious, I have been considering retiring, leaving in fact. Though I doubt you came here to hear me complain about my job. It wouldn¡¯t be nearly as bad as it is, if the Traditionalists hadn¡¯t snuck themselves into our policies. We used to never have cases like this back when the Humanists were running office, but it seems the Traditionalists are chasing them out or.¡± she pauses, ¡°I am sorry, hun. You don¡¯t need to hear an old lady complain about politics.¡±


    I shake my head, ¡°It¡¯s interesting.¡±


    ¡°You find that interesting?¡± Cassandra laughs, while rummaging in her drawer taking out her bento box, ¡°Most seventeen year olds would find politics boring. Then again, I should know who your Mom is of course you¡¯d find that sort of thing interesting.¡±


    ¡°The Traditionalist or?¡± I ask, ¡°You didn¡¯t finish your thought.¡±


    Cassandra pulls a face while opening the lid to reveal a salad, she sets aside Ziplocs of almonds and cranberries, and takes out a package of dressing she¡¯s wedge between two ice packs, ¡°Well you didn¡¯t hear this from me or they kill them.¡±


    ¡°You think Traditionalists are killing people?¡± the more information she gives me, the easier it is to know what angle to work.


    ¡°Well,¡± she simply tilts her head, ¡°Let¡¯s just say there is a case currently going on that may or may not prove my theory.¡±


    ¡°Why did you become a lawyer?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°Why did I become a lawyer,¡± she smiles, as if she¡¯s recalling a memory, ¡°To help people. We take an Oath of Truth. When the Humanists were administrating or there were more in office, we weren¡¯t utilized the way we are utilized now. We were more like mediators and middlemen, helping disputes between the people. Now with the Traditionalist, we¡¯re assigning guilt and blame. Traditionalists don¡¯t care that much about The People¡¯s Law. They care more about right and wrong.¡±


    Watching her. She seems sad about this fact. Maybe our goals align more than I thought. Maybe I don¡¯t need to use an angle, but continue to remind her why the current system is broken. Maybe she will be easier to convince than I thought. I just need to find a way for her to not to know that this information is for me.


    ¡°Why do you think the Traditionalist started to become favored?¡± I ask her.


    She is currently chewing. I wait. She looks at me, ¡°Hun. You don¡¯t have anything to eat with you?¡± she ask me.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry about that, I was going to have lunch with Mom later,¡± I reassure her.


    ¡°All right, I just don¡¯t want to rudely eat in front of you,¡±


    ¡°Thank you for the concern,¡±


    ¡°I suspect the reason the Traditionalist started to become favored, when the Sect of Cosmos began to lose their importance. A lot of our Humanist approaches came from the tenants spoken from the Oratories,¡±


    ¡°Do you believe in the Sect?¡± I ask her curiously.


    ¡°Even if the Oratories about the Celestials and the Realms, may not be true, it is the Sect that has given us the Humanist Administrations. I believe in the policies they crafted, that doesn¡¯t mean that I have to believe in anything mystical to do so,¡±


    There is silence that is creeping in. She watches me. I watch her. We say nothing at first. She continues eating for a moment, and finally places her fork down, ¡°I am smarter than I look. Why are you here?¡±

 Dear Readers: My Pledge to You

    The manuscript is almost completed. I am aware that there is this fear that some authors will drop a story. I have been writing Affairs of Demons and Men since January of this year and it is near completion. I am posting chapters as they are edited not written. Thank you for your continual support and keep reading.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    This is sort of a pledge to you, that ADM, is nearing it''s completion in the background:

 Quinn 11 - Midtown - Legal Legends

    I guess it was obvious enough that I wasn¡¯t really here for her job. Mom¡¯s been working here for awhile, the last time I ever visited here was when I was twelve. And it was for a parent work day function. Scanning her desk, ¡°Do you ever dream of fixing the current system?¡± I ask her.


    She watches me, ¡°There are already people doing so. Florian for example, took office a few years ago and seems to be really upholding the Enforcer¡¯s Oath. The one the officers are supposed to be upholding. Not sure what one lawyer can do to fix the current system. I am doing what I can to uphold the Oath of Truth and The People¡¯s Law, as much as I can.¡±


    ¡°Would you ever entertain the idea to uphold those values through a vigilante?¡± I ask her.


    She looks at me, ¡°What are you getting yourself into? Quentin.¡± she uses my name firmly, but with a concerned look, ¡°Considering your past. And history, you should be focused on your studies and graduating without getting arrested.¡±


    I shake my head, ¡°It¡¯s not me.¡± I tell her.


    She seems to let down her guard, ¡°As the adult in the room, I want to say that vigilantism doesn¡¯t work. However.¡± she pauses, ¡°Considering how the Traditionalist started as a small group, who uprooted their way into a system like weeds, vigilantism works for some.¡±


    ¡°You know the recent deaths?¡± I ask her.


    She clicks her tongue. My heart is pounding. I don¡¯t know if I am nervous or excited. I¡¯ve never done something like this before.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re involved in those,¡± Cassandra responds, she looks very concerned.


    ¡°No,¡± I tell her, ¡°But I might know who it is?¡±


    Cassandra looks at me, ¡°And who might that be?¡±


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    ¡°Karma,¡±


    She laughs, ¡°Karma.¡± she states, ¡°What a name. What do they want with me? I am not going to be involved in something like that.¡±


    ¡°Well, they figured you could help with police information,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°I may have connections with the police, that is certainly true, but it is a violation of even the Transparency Act to release that information to someone not involved,¡± she states.


    ¡°True,¡± I watch her, ¡°But you¡¯re thinking about retiring. And you have no faith in your system. Why continue to be an accomplice of a system you hate?¡±


    My heart races further. It violently beats in my ear drum. Is she going to contact my Mom? Is she going to tell the police? She¡¯s thinking. There is silence between us. Something is heavy in the room. I am not scared of being caught, however. I wonder why that is.


    Cassandra hangs her head low, ¡°Fine. But I don¡¯t want to hear your name, I don¡¯t want to hear that you¡¯re involved in this. You contact this Karma, and he or she has to promise me that you aren¡¯t involved or won¡¯t be involved. Is that fair?¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± I nod.


    Cassandra nods, but she looks disappointed, ¡°You should go. Your Mom is probably waiting for you and I am sure she¡¯d like some lunch.¡±


    ¡°Your email?¡±


    She hands me her business card. I accept it while getting up from the chair, ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Just go Quinn,¡± she tells me flatly.


    Leaving her office with her business card in hand. That went, well - I think. Easier than I thought actually. I am not scared. I wasn¡¯t scared. In fact I think that for the first time I felt like I had - control. Is that the right word? I wonder why she agreed to help. I guess the police couldn¡¯t really do much even if she told them. So, I suppose I don¡¯t have much to worry about. Heading back to the receptionist desk. Mom looks up from her computer, ¡°How did it go sweetie?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°That¡¯s good, Cassandra is full of knowledge,¡± Mom tells me with a smile, ¡°I admire her.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Daphne looks over at Mom.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Mom tells her, ¡°You¡¯re never too old to admire others.¡±


    ¡°I really liked her too,¡± I smile back.


    ¡°It¡¯s good that you see the good I see in others,¡± Mom begins to gather her things, ¡°How about we go get some lunch and I can take you back home before I return to the office?¡±


    ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡± Daphne ask curiously.


    ¡°What do you suggest?¡± Mom ask her with a curious expression.


    ¡°Sorry am I barging in too much?¡± she ask.


    ¡°Of course not dear, I appreciate your insight,¡± Mom states.


    Daphne turns away shyly, ¡°You¡¯re so kind. I know of a place, it¡¯s casual, inexpensive-


    -how about you come along dear?¡± Mom suggest.


    ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t want to interrupt a Mom and Son-


    -Quinn is okay with it, right?¡± Mom looks at me.


    I smile, nodding, looking at Daphne, ¡°We would be delighted to have you.¡±

 Trista 1

    Pricks. I¡¯ve been locked up in the Split for - Phantoms who knows how long. Why the fuck do I care about that anyway. Time doesn¡¯t really exist here. In the Split. This is the only place in the damn Realms you cannot hear the Lenses click. Getting real sick of sitting here, counting the stars. Only thing really to pass the time. Fucking phrasing. Counting the stars doesn¡¯t even really fucking matter anyway, when there are millions, upon millions.


    Don¡¯t know why they bother me to lock me up in the Split. If they didn¡¯t want Eras¡¯ Artifact to be taken, then they should have had tighter security. The Celestials always think shortsightedly. Never plan for the future. Not one of them thought, what if someone was tempted to take this artifact. They just had it lying around.


    Bastards. It isn¡¯t my fucking fault they don¡¯t plan for any fucking future. Because they embody principles of unity. And one for all bullshit. Them putting me in this Split, is just for show really. For a Phantom I am not much of a challenge for a Celestial like Eras. But I will put up a pretty good fucking fight if I have to.


    They are probably keeping me around because none of them can enter the Mortal Realm. Here in the Celestial Realm time works so slowly, the Celestials age so slowly they are millenia old, but infinitely young. The Mortal Realm is influenced by their perception of time. By the time the Celestials entered the Mortal Realm they would age to their actual years.


    Just like the Seraphim. She probably entered the realm as a withered old hag by the time she landed.


    Finally someone is approaching.


    Splitting the stars at first. They scatter like scared fish, while Eras emerges from the warped voided walls. His robe made of the sky clings to the wall. Making it hard to discern what part of him is made of flesh and what part made of him is made from the sky.


    Interlocking the fingers of his six hands together calmly in thought after morphing the cosmos with ease, before they seal up behind him.


    I cackle a laugh while bowing, ¡°I am honored by your presence Ferry of Souls.¡± mocking him.


    Eras doesn¡¯t seem impressed, in fact he seems rather annoyed with me. His gray skinned fingers clench on each of star scattered knuckles, if he had a face it would probably be one of vexation. Except that his face is shielded by a veil, and what glimpse you do get of his face is just as voided as this voided world. A blackhole, with emotion.


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    ¡°You jest unwisely,¡± Eras warns calmly.


    ¡°Oh, why would I ever joke, I am truly honored,¡± I want to see how far I can dig into his skin.


    Eras remains calm while studying me.


    ¡°You have caused quite an issue,¡± Eras continues calmly, while annoyed with me, he seems to know how to keep himself in check.


    ¡°Actually, your lack of security is the real issue, if you didn¡¯t want someone to take the artifact, you should have kept it locked up. The Celestials faith in the good of the many is what caused the issue, for all of your wisdom, you didn¡¯t consider that someone may attempt to take your Pen,¡± I state.


    Eras sighs, ¡°You should be aware that this conversation is the determining factor of what form of discipline I enforce.¡±


    ¡°I am so scared,¡± I remark.


    ¡°I am not unaware of your lack of responsibility, if I could get rid of you, I would, but for as long as you worm your way into the Mortals'' fears, getting rid of you over and over again is a chore for me,¡± Eras remarks.


    ¡°I guess then it means I am to be let go,¡±


    Eras gives a disgruntled sigh, ¡°The Pen has entered the Mortal Realm. If I could reach it on my own I would. I have determined the necessary discipline for a Phantom like you.¡±


    ¡°The one where you take responsibility for leaving your Artifact not secured and have rudely accused me of causing any problems,¡±


    Eras says nothing. He unfolds a pair of his arms, keeping the other pair folded together, ¡°You disobey the laws of the realms and as a Phantom you barged your way into the Celestial Realm without permission. Even if it weren¡¯t for the missing artifact, you have already broken several of our oaths. I figure, I have a way to keep you on a leash, and an incentive to retrieve back My Artifact.¡±


    Despite his calm. I get the feeling he wants to laugh at me and mock me.


    ¡°Do go on,¡± I think I know the answer.


    ¡°I will tie you to a Mortal Veil,¡± Eras tells me, ¡°We will perform a Mortal Bond, tethering you to a vessel. Then we send you to the Mortal Realm.¡±


    This prick. How does he expect me to retrieve an artifact with no power? In a Mortal Bond I will be limited by the limitations of my meat prison.


    ¡°How do I retrieve your artifact in a Mortal Veil? That seems like a relatively dumb plan,¡±


    Eras doesn¡¯t care, ¡°I guess you¡¯ll have to use your ¡°smarts¡±.¡±


    Now the Celestial is mocking me. Once I get back his artifact the first thing I am going to do to this six armed fuck is processing him with his own damn pen.


    ¡°And if I returned the Pen, would I be returned as a Phantom, released from the Mortal Bond,¡±


    Eras gives a very airy dry laugh, ¡°I¡¯ll consider it.¡±


    Fucker. That¡¯s a no.


    ¡°How do you expect me to comply if I am not guaranteed anything?¡± I ask.


    ¡°I figure that at some point you will get bored and beg to be returned, what is that Mortal expression, riding two birds with one stone, we will find a way to retrieve the artifact on our own once an opportunity arises to do so. In the meantime, your Mortal Veil will prevent you from interfering much,¡± Eras tells me.


    If I actually had the power, I would plan a daring escape right now. Fucker. They don¡¯t expect me to return to this plane. They are hoping I die in that short lived realm. Truth is I don¡¯t think the Celestials, especially Eras, expect me to do the right thing anyway. They figure it is a way to get rid of me. Well fine, fuck them too. I¡¯ll just take this as an opportunity. Maybe I can find some advantage in all of this.

 Quinn 12 - Downtown - Avenue View Apartments

    Cassandra has at least honored her word. Staring at the email sent, and addressed to Karma. I assumed she would back out, actually. Even when I spoke with her. She seemed hesitant. A part of her didn¡¯t want to agree. A part of her wanted to.


    There''s a photo: A woman with blonde, stringy hair, stares into the camera. Despite the deadened expression in her eyes, there is a fury buried deep. Her expression, says it all really, that she feels justified in her actions - whatever they may be. The slight defiance in her clenched jaw. Her lips held tight, as if just beneath the surface she was holding in a scream.


    She believes in the Celestials. I guess the question here is what my aim or goal is. What is my next plan of action actually? Zoe might be useful. Her dutifulness to her Community might be able to be used to initially send a message about Karma¡¯s judgement. Probably from the Celestials themselves. I could tap into people¡¯s faith.


    I think I have seen something like this happen before, somewhere in a movie, likely. I am not sure if this is a thing that happens in real life.


    A politician? An Oakside Representative. Barely. He¡¯s a Traditionalist. I know a bit about him, he¡¯s been on the news lately. He¡¯s been arrested on allegations of embezzlement and bribery. There¡¯s even a rumor that he killed the Humanist Representative he was competing against to get elected. Though the police never found evidence. Or maybe they hid evidence. Skipping over her written information about Hector.


    Is this some sort of test from Cassandra?


    Skimming over the details of Tommy briefly.


    I remember seeing this on the news briefly. Mostly people mocking him. Mainly for his excuse of why he went on a string of robberies from several stores in the area, he needed to make rent.


    This seems relatively minor. In comparison to the other two files Cassandra has sent. I think the obvious choice would be Hector. He¡¯s a politician after all, and someone people don¡¯t necessarily like. However, I think it is important to wait to see the results of his trial and use that to my advantage. If, and they will since the judge is in Hector¡¯s pocket according to some of the rumors, Hector is found not guilty afterwards, killing him might rally the people to Karam¡¯s side. And recognize that Karma is their champion.


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    Before I use Hector¡¯s redemption to scare those trying to use the system to their advantage. I can use Zoe¡¯s redemption to bring Karma to the people¡¯s attention.


    I guess the question is, how do I use Zoe for this?


    I know, judging from her expression in her police photograph - she feels justified in her actions. You can see it in her eyes. In her clench jaw. It¡¯s not entirely rage. More like she wants to shout, you fools. You puppets. You¡¯re tools to your own law. I sort of get that feeling from her face staring into the camera. It¡¯s almost like looking at two people. Her. And hazey version of her.


    I know The Pen - kills people through a string of accidents. I don¡¯t really know how The Pen entirely works. I know that if I write the way someone dies specifically, then The Pen does so. Maybe - staring at The Pen, I wonder if this Pen is from the Celestials. Is this some sort of fate? No likely coincidental. And yet.


    I think the best way to handle this situation - would be. Staring at her picture. What would you do? If you were to die tomorrow, what would you say? How would you end it all? I don¡¯t think I fully understand her, but there is something dark that I do understand. Something foggy and unfocused. Opening my journal, it might be;


    When I write with this Pen, there is an understanding, almost like a link between me and them. And I don¡¯t know why. Is this how this Pen works?


    There is a haziness when writing.


    What I wish - To send my message? Whose is that?

 Magi 6 - Location Redacted

    If it wasn¡¯t clear before that these strings of accidents were intentional, then this definitely makes it more obvious. A calling card? A code? A message? I wonder. Karma? Is it a name or do they believe it that their actions are karmic?


    Grasping straws; of course without any evidence they would think Florian is being paranoid. I wouldn¡¯t necessarily disagree with that statement. If not for the bloody message left on a cement wall.


    It seems odd, doesn¡¯t it. That someone could or would deliberately set up random accidents. Is that even possible?


    Staring at the wall with the words Karma printed in crimson, it makes my skin crawl to look at it, pushing that aside - it¡¯s evident that this word means something. Why write this message? I think some truly believe that they will never get caught, but this is often the piece that gets them chased. Others may see it as a way to taunt the police. But if this person is setting up murders that seem like accidents, why would they need to taunt the police?


    There has to be something linking all of these accidents together.


    With that settled, where is the phone? Found it. The outdated phone was discarded between some pillows and the crease of the armchair. With a shaky hand, I flip it open. There is only one number on my phone. The phone rings for long enough that I am worried he won¡¯t answer.


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    ¡°Why are you calling me?¡± the Herald answers, he sounds exasperated with me.


    ¡°To make a request,¡± I reply dryly.


    ¡°Make it quick,¡± he responds sharply.


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± I take a second, ¡°I¡¯d like to request a change of location.¡±


    ¡°Where? And for what reason?¡± He definitely sounds annoyed with me.


    ¡°Oakside, I believe that there is something happening,¡± I tell him, ¡°I¡¯d like to arrive as quietly as possible, without their knowledge that I have gotten there. I would like to survey some locations without the Civilian Protection knowing.¡±


    ¡°Oakside,¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡±


    ¡°And you think this is something worth the Order¡¯s time?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I do,¡±


    There¡¯s some silence on the other side.


    ¡°Fine, what do you need?¡± he replies.


    ¡°I want to investigate two reformation centers, and a city street-


    -a city street,¡± he doesn¡¯t sound so amused.


    ¡°Yes, without interruption,¡± I respond.


    ¡°Without interruption?¡± he repeats.


    ¡°Yes,¡±


    ¡°And do you have any form of communication with the Civilian Protection of Oakside?¡± he asks.


    ¡°I have emails,¡±


    ¡°Forward them,¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡±


    ¡°And Wolf will be with you?¡± the Herald asks.


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡±


    ¡°Send those emails, I¡¯ll have tickets for you later,¡±


    Well, that was unpleasant. As it usually is. I think the Herald expects me to simply take small cases behind my tablet, rather than go outside of his recommended jurisdiction. We should probably clean up, while we wait for tickets to arrive. It would be unfair to leave a mess when the hotel has been kind enough to work with our security protocols. And has housed for as long as they have.

 Quinn 13 - Downtown - Avenue View Apartments

    Karma has logged in - 12:08pm


    Truth is that I didn''t really know how to respond earlier. She knows who I am. Anything I could or would say ordinarily would be picked up by her. I need to know how Karma would respond. What he would say.


    I should have known it was too easy convincing her to help.


    Did they consider their victims as people? I wonder.


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    Yet, again another person who thinks shortsightedly.


    What''s with this moral superiority? As if she''s any better. She''s the one who agreed to helping. She agreed to help. And now she suddenly has a problem with what is happening. She should have known. No she admitted that she knew. If that''s the case, then who gave her the right to think she was morally superior. I do not know how to respond to her. On one hand I am playing a persona. On the other hand I have to keep her in check somehow. I have barely gotten started with what I planned.


    Heart racing. Is this nervousness? Am I anxious? Or excited? I don''t know what I am feeling right now.  There is a compicated set of dull emotions beginning to bubble up to the surface. At first I was agitated, but that faded as soon as I began to write. Is this who Karma is? And if this is Karma. Then who am I? What lies just beneath the surface? I have always felt this emptiness. This quiet nothing. Sometimes things stir it awake and it becomes a loud something. Is this the loud something that sleeps inside of me?

 Magi 7 - Oakside Midton

    This is the street.


    Busy. With a lot of traffic, there¡¯s a four way crosswalk. It connects the town¡¯s shopping center, to a nearby cafe across the street, an apartment complex on the other side, and a parking garage on the other.


    Wolf fixes her sunglasses, ¡°You think it¡¯s safe just standing around here?¡± she asks. I think she¡¯s mocking me, playfully.


    ¡°You think every person on the street knows who I am?¡± I ask.


    There¡¯s two security cameras. On the opposite sides of each other. I¡¯d like access to them, to gather what happened the night of Morrison¡¯s death.


    ¡°So, any big ideas?¡± she ask me curiously.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have enough information to determine that,¡± I respond.


    ¡°I see,¡± she pauses, ¡°I thought you genius types saw something and then it all clicked.¡± she laughs.


    I am not a genius. At least I don¡¯t consider myself a genius.


    ¡°I am not a genius,¡± I tell her.


    If Morrison¡¯s death was a hit, then someone would have noticed. This seems to be the center of the town. No witnesses. The more I look, the more it seems like a traffic accident. The first piece. It¡¯s like staring at just a piece of the sky that belongs to a puzzle. And you¡¯re just trying to imagine what the full picture is. I wouldn¡¯t be here if I didn¡¯t feel Florian Lysander had something. Exactly, what that is? Well that¡¯s just slowly being unveiled.


    ¡°I am having a laugh,¡± she tells me, while we cross the street. The walk sign is accompanied by a voice directing foot traffic.


    ¡°I am aware,¡± I respond.


    She sort of huffs, ¡°Walk me through the process.¡± she states.


    ¡°The way I think,¡± I state, ¡°Well, what do we have right now. A bloody message written on a wall. It still hasn¡¯t been ruled out that Zoe herself felt her death was karmic. The issue with that being is she showed no signs of mental instability or even that she was considering her own death. She seemed willing to go through the court process because she felt she was justified in her actions.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t everybody believe themselves the hero of their own story?¡± she asks me curiously.


    ¡°That isn¡¯t incorrect, but I don¡¯t care to also make the person who committed a negative action a villain-


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    -I wasn¡¯t making her a villain,¡± she interjects, ¡°So. How do you link a car accident, a man falling off the rails, a man who died of a blood clot in court and a woman who bled out of her wrist?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I respond, ¡°It¡¯s like being given corner pieces with center pieces.¡±


    She raises her brow as we get to the other side, in front of a cafe, ¡°Context.¡±


    ¡°Puzzle,¡± I respond.


    ¡°Because that makes sense,¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t everybody make references to puzzle pieces?¡±


    She laughs, ¡°I think only you do.¡±


    Perhaps. Right now what we have is only loose threads. And we only arrived in Oakside not too long ago. I am not even so certain that we have anything. She¡¯s right, how do you link a bunch of unconnected accidents together? What is the thing that ties these loose threads together? This isn¡¯t the first time I have dealt with something of this caliber. Strangely connected events or strange circumstances. Eventually I have found the thing that ties them together. And I have always found myself driven to continue digging. Digging at something invisible.


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± I respond.


    She gives me a look, ¡°What does it take to get you to smile? Even a little.¡±


    She¡¯s doing that thing again. It isn¡¯t that I am unaware of what she is attempting to do. The truth is that I recognize I am keeping her at a distance, because of my own insecurity. I desperately want our relationship to remain strictly professional, but I know that at the end of the day that¡¯s not necessarily healthy.


    Pointing to the cafe, ¡°Coffee poltergeist wants to haunt the cafe for a bit.¡± I give her a smile.


    She laughs.


    ¡°I am going to call an Oracle and have it removed,¡± she teases back.


    ¡°The only thing that keeps the coffee poltergeist away is the lack of coffee,¡±


    ¡°Ah so to banish the coffee poltergeist we have to rid the world of coffee-


    -looks that way,¡±


    ¡°See I knew you were weird deep down inside,¡±


    ¡°I am not weird, either,¡±


    ¡°Very weird,¡±


    ¡°You think I have become like one of those hermits who doesn¡¯t know how to people?¡±


    ¡°Oh absolutely, you¡¯ll start talking to the furniture soon enough,¡±


    ¡°I already do, when you¡¯re not around-


    -which is weird because I am always around,¡±


    I smile just a bit. She¡¯s funny. Quick too. Wolf raises her arms up in the air, ¡°We got him to smile. Thank Celestials. Come on coffee gremlin, let''s get one of those fancy coffees. The ones with the pretty pictures on it-


    -but if we get it to go, then the lid will cover the picture-


    -we will have to periodically lift the lid up,¡±


    ¡°How do you come up with that sort of answer?¡± Now I am trying to understand her. She cocks her head to the side.


    ¡°I have no filter,¡± she responds, ¡°I don¡¯t even think half the time what I am going to say. I just word vomit it and hope my confidence can sell the rest of it no matter how awkward it sounds.¡±


    ¡°You sell it well,¡± I followed her into the cafe. She takes the lead forward.


    ¡°Be careful, that almost sounds like a compliment,¡± She smirks.


    ¡°I am capable of compliments,¡±


    ¡°Are you sure that¡¯s very professional? Some would say you have to berate your employees,¡±


    She frowns, ¡°I am sorry,¡± she says quickly and softly. Why is she apologizing? Maybe because I made a face. I didn¡¯t want to berate her. Or make her feel lesser. Or that she was simply a Ward to me. I mean that is what I have been doing. The last time a Ward and I became friends, they weren¡¯t the person I thought they were. We weakened the fine line between professional and friend, and that only ended up getting people hurt in the end.


    ¡°No need to apologize,¡± I tell her, ¡°I should be sorry.¡±


    ¡°No, no, sometimes when you lack a filter you say something and forget,¡± she pauses, ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to tear at an old wound.¡±


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t really treat you like you¡¯re beneath me-


    -I didn¡¯t mean to imply that,¡± she tells me with another smile.


    ¡°Eitherway it sounds like something I am doing-


    -you¡¯re not, trust me,¡± she tells me, ¡°You¡¯re anything, but that. There¡¯s a difference between being insecure and being a bully. Let¡¯s get some coffee to lift our spirits.¡± she frowns, ¡°That one was particularly bad. Hard to make this less awkward.¡±


    ¡°I can only make it more awkward,¡± I tell her, ¡°I am better with furniture than people.¡±


    She laughs, ¡°That will have to make do.¡±

 Quinn 14 - Midtown- Ashwood Highschool

    I don¡¯t take the Pen to school. I try to keep my Mondays and the rest of the week to focus on school. Despite what my Mother wants, I am not actually very good at school. It¡¯s usually tedious and relatively boring. It¡¯s not nearly as captivating as the mysterious object. I find myself eager to continue working on my plans as Karma. Eager, that¡¯s a new one, at least that¡¯s what I would describe this fluttering when I think about the Pen. Though it¡¯s obvious Cassandra is not going to be helpful in the future. How does one create a network when they are a simple teenager? Who would help me?


    ¡°Hey,¡± a quiet voice. I turn around, pressing my chest to the plastic school chair to see Charles standing behind me. It¡¯s currently lunchtime, and despite Charles being someone with money, he has a pretty old looking lunchbox. The kind you¡¯d get from a thrift or secondhand store.


    ¡°Hello Charles,¡± I attempt to smile. Perhaps to reassure him. Since he once again looks uncomfortable to be near me.


    ¡°I,¡± Charles is already nervously fidgeting with the handle of his lunchbox, he clears his throat, ¡°been. Uh. Ignoring you.¡±


    Well that was obvious.


    ¡°I know,¡± I tell him while gesturing for him to sit next to me in an empty desk. I¡¯ve never really had friends at school. Most of the students at Ashwood steer clear from me. My past really never has escaped me and I think a lot of them are worried I am going to do something to them. Unless they have done something terrible, they don¡¯t necessarily have to worry about that.


    Charles gives me a guilty apologetic frown, ¡°I sort of got freaked out.¡±


    I laugh, ¡°Bob¡¯s Harmless.¡±


    For some reason he doesn¡¯t seem reassured. He seems, if it is even possible, more nervous.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t the taxidermed cat,¡± Charles blurts out, while unzipping his lunchbox, ¡°Okay that was part of it.¡± he finally admits, ¡°It was a combination of a lot of things. You seemed so uncaring about your Dad¡¯s passing-


    -he died in 2013, I am long past the stage of grieving, so I thought the casualness of the conversation was the appropriate approach-


    -not really,¡± he pauses, ¡°And your artwork is.¡± he opens up his packed sandwich as if to inspect it, ¡°Turkey.¡± he says to himself with disappointment his expectations weren¡¯t met, ¡°disturbing.¡±


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    ¡°You think?¡± I ask him.


    ¡°Did you draw them yourself?¡± he ask, looking over at my table, ¡°Crackers and cheese?¡± he ask.


    ¡°Mhm, I like it,¡± I tell him, ¡°And I did draw them.¡±


    The color in his face drains, ¡°Did you,¡± he¡¯s contemplating whether or not he really wants the answer , ¡°draw all of them?¡±


    ¡°All of them,¡±


    ¡°Even the one where,¡± he lowers his head as if he could conjure a teacher¡¯s presence just by saying their name, ¡°The one where Mr. Ratcliffe¡¯s eyes were melting out of his skull?¡±


    I laugh. Oh that one. That one is mild in comparison to some of the others. I heard a rumor once that Mr. Ratcliffe was looking into the girl¡¯s locker rooms. There was no confirmation ever that he did so. When I used to just think about how someone would get their just desserts, I drew his eyes, melting the way fried eggs sizzle on a hot pan.


    ¡°Even that one,¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°L¡¯appel du vide,¡±


    ¡°I am not following,¡±


    ¡°It translates to The Call of the Void, though I doubt that is exactly what the feeling is like. The Call to the Void is that small little voice that comes as an intrusive thought to leap in front of a car, or to jump off a ledge, even though you wouldn¡¯t. Cute aggression is the phenomenon of seeing a very cute animal and wanting to squeeze the ever living life out of it because it¡¯s so darn cute. I think there are feelings that sit in between the two. Road rage, the intrusive thought to kill or harm others even though you wouldn¡¯t,¡±


    Charles looks extremely uncomfortable.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I have thoughts like that,¡± Charles responds, ¡°Well I mean the intrusive thoughts to kill or harm people.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡±


    Charles takes a second, biting a part of his sandwich and choosing to eat slowly. He looks over at me again after swallowing, ¡°I heard a rumor.¡± he begins, ¡°That in elementary you took a knife to a kid and threatened to cut off his ears.¡±


    I laugh which only makes him frown.


    ¡°The story has been kind of told strangely by other kids,¡± I tell him, ¡°I am laughing because of how the story evolved.¡±


    Am I nervous? As I raise my shaky hands, pulling back my brown hair behind my ears, I usually keep them covered, ¡°Kids at school used to make fun of my large ears. One day I took a pair of safety scissors to a kid¡¯s ears and threatened to cut them off. People are going to believe anything is dangerous if they are being threatened by it.¡±


    Charles looks away, scanning the whiteboard in front of the classroom instead, ¡°I don¡¯t know if that is how I would react.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. I don¡¯t really attempt to make people like me. I believe that people should be allowed to believe what they believe. That any change of opinion should be freely theirs.¡±


    ¡°I heard you got expelled,¡± Charles mentions.


    ¡°I did,¡± I tell him, ¡°But it taught me that the people who do bad things will always get away for doing the wrong thing-


    -that¡¯s why you came to my rescue last week,¡± Charles interrupts.


    I nod, ¡°People should feel the desire to help, because they empathize with others, how it must hurt to be recorded while someone is basically torturing you. I am sorry that happened to you Charles.¡±


    Charles sort of looks away nervously, ¡°Yeah, I mean thank-


    ¡°Oh you two are here,¡± Mr. Huang the teacher interrupts us, walking into the classroom ¡°You two should clean up and get ready for class.¡±

 Magi 8 - Midtown - The Velvet Bar

    The bar here seems to attract a younger crowd, or really, it seems to elicit a vibe of sophistication. It¡¯s a historical building like most of the buildings in Midtown are. It currently isn¡¯t open, but this is the one that Morrison went to that night. A posted signs say that they open around six in the evening. Looking around, there has to be a way-


    -snaking around the back of the building, there is a semi-truck wedged into a narrow alleyway. Let me get my bearings; across the street there is the outside market, with the boutique shops, a rather crowded cafe, the bar sits on the corner of a street, across to the left is an apartment complex. There are several small businesses nestled throughout.


    Someone should have seen something?


    Two men are currently awkwardly slithering on the side of the semi-truck, attempting to hall alcohol and food into the bar¡¯s kitchen. They are all taking orders for a man in his mid-thirties, black dress shirt with palm leaves. His hair reddish brown, curly, and held together in a loose ponytail.


    He notices the two of us pretty quickly and has to wedge himself between the freight truck and the wall to point to the two of us, ¡°We aren¡¯t open yet. If you¡¯re looking for a job, bring back your resume when we are.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean to be a bother,¡± I tell him, while Wolf edges a bit more forward and close to my side, ¡°I am actually here investigating a recent death.¡±


    ¡°Are you from the Oakside Department?¡± he ask defensively, ¡°I already told them what I know. Guy bought a drink, then he steps outside and gets crushed.¡±


    They would have investigated whether it was an accident or a targeted hit.


    ¡°I promise I am only going to ask a few more questions,¡± I reassure him.


    ¡°Am I going to be constantly bothered for a car accident?¡± he ask me, ¡°Or is something going on I need to know about?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not in any trouble,¡± I pause, ¡°Perhaps we should start on better terms. I¡¯m Magi. And you are?¡±


    He scoffs at first.


    ¡°Magi, what kind of prick prances around with a name like that,¡± he pauses, ¡°Jeremy Ford. So if I am not in any trouble and they already investigated the place. Why are you here?¡±


    ¡°Do you have security footage of that night inside the bar-


    -why are you asking for that? The Enforcers didn¡¯t even ask for that. They said the case was routine,¡± Jeremy crosses his arms.


    They aren¡¯t incorrect. Currently, what we have is a bunch of loosely connected accidents that may or may not be tied together.


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    ¡°I am not with the Enforcers-


    -then who the hell are you?¡± Jeremy barks.


    Right. This isn¡¯t my favorite thing to do. I didn¡¯t really want Lysander or the Oakside Police Department to know that I am here until I had investigated the areas alone. Then we could collaborate on the information we have received. Sighing. He should know what this means, taking out my Heraldry, ¡°I am with the Order of the Exalted.¡±


    ¡°Why the fuck is the Order here?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to cause a panic,¡± I remain calm, while he seems more agitated, ¡°However, this may not have been as routine as previously thought. Anything you can provide on Morrison that night is helpful.¡±


    Jeremy seems taken aback, ¡°They think this was a hit!¡±


    ¡°Potentially,¡±


    ¡°I know nothing about any hits,¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine, it¡¯s why I need the security footage of that night, inside the bar,¡±


    Jeremy takes a second, he hesitantly gestures around the truck, ¡°Follow me. Getting around the truck is going to be a bitch n half.¡±


    ¡°Just like a man to try and force himself into a space he doesn¡¯t fit,¡± Wolf remarks quietly. Though I think Jeremy hears her, because he looks behind him.


    We squeeze past a narrow gap between the brick wall and the semi-truck. To be led up some cement steps. Entering the kitchen, the two men unloading the truck are piling boxes on top of each other, while a few other individuals are currently prepping for their evening service.


    Jeremy steps outside the kitchen. We follow in pursuit. This definitely is the type of place to attract crowds. The bar counter is solid oak, polished so well it reflects the pendant shaped chandeliers dangling from the ceiling. Black pleather individual booths sit across on the other side of the counter. Rich red wallpaper, with scattered stars. Even empty, you can hear the crowds and laughter of the evening.


    We leave that behind a red velvet curtain, the type you might see on a play stage, where a door and hallway are tucked away, ¡°Security cameras are in the office.¡± Jeremy mentions while opening the door.


    The office seems to betray all the outside sophistication the public sees. It¡¯s small, the walls remain white, with a metal table being used as a desk. And a crooked outdated monitor sits in the center. He points to the monitor. ¡°That¡¯s the computer we use for the security footage. We have two cameras in the entertainment room.¡± he gestures to a metal chair, ¡°I¡¯ll open the folder. What do you need?¡±


    ¡°Last Month, April 16th, 2020,¡± I tell him.


    ¡°All right, so how am I handing this over?¡± Jeremy ask.


    ¡°I can transfer it to my tablet,¡± I state, taking it out from the inside pocket of my coat. Why did I put it in the wrong pocket? I notice Jeremy¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Serious scar you have there,¡± Jeremy remarks pointing to my hand, ¡°Probably has a cool story. Especially from you Order type.¡± he unbuttons the cuff of his shirt, showing off a scar on his forearm, ¡°Got that in Aoi Islands. Learning how to make sushi.¡± He looks over at Wolf, ¡°You from around there?¡±


    ¡°This is getting incredibly awkward being trapped in a small room with two men,¡± Wolf states.


    Jeremy laughs nervously, ¡°Right. Guess I am not supposed to know.¡±


    ¡°We should remain focused on the topic at hand,¡± I state.


    Wolf snorts. We both turn our attention to her, ¡°Sorry. It was funny. Hand. Topic at hand.¡±


    Jeremy looks at her, ¡°Aren¡¯t you with the Order?¡±


    ¡°Me? I am with the Order. If you¡¯re asking if I am Agent of the Order, I am not. Don¡¯t mind me, pretend I am not here,¡± Wolf responds.


    Jeremy gives me an uneasy look.


    ¡°She¡¯s my joke dispenser. When tensions seem too high, she spits out a few laughs,¡± I remark. This is getting incredibly awkward and quickly derailing.


    ¡°Right, security footage,¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I place my tablet and a USB chord onto the metal table, ¡°Security footage.¡±

 Trista 2 - Oakside Midtown

    Spinning.


    Spiraling.


    Being dragged. The Celestials Incantation becoming faint murmuring. At first, there is nothing to perceive. Not the sound of the Lenses. Not your sense of self. Just being poured out into the Realms like someone had knocked over a cup of murky water.


    Without Eras¡¯ Pen, I am sure the Celestials do not know what to do with the roaming Mortal Spirits. There is no guarantee this Mortal Bond can work. I have to travel through the two other Realms and I may entirely scatter to the void. So this is their hail merry until they can find some other way to retrieve the Pen. Even if I get obliterated into sky dust, never making my destination. Though I bet that is what they are hoping for. Eitherway they get rid of me as a problem.


    How long is this supposed to take? Unless I have scattered. And am unaware of it. Just a conciousness somewhere-


    -Slamming hard. Through the barrier, it clings to me like spiderwebs. Invisible hands grasping tightly, dragging me. Sealing me up tight. Then darkness.


    At first I hear faint crying. The first thing I hear. Then the sound of a heartbeat in one of my ears. Living hurts. Breathing hurts. I cough. Fuck.


    ¡°Dad,¡± oh. Right. Fuck. Mortal bullshit.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I find the Mortal¡¯s Vocal Chords.


    ¡°You¡¯re okay,¡± she sounds relieved, I haven¡¯t opened my eyes yet, to feel someone weighing down my Mortal Body, ¡°I thought you died.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, me too,¡± I remark.


    Opening my eyes seeing a pink and orange sky. Clouds drifting lazily in the sky, while the sun is slowly setting. I¡¯m back. In this Realm. The Mortal one, in a decaying body destined to rot. Trying to sit up and attempt to see the Mortal speaking to me, a young woman, striking red hair, catching the last rays of the sun peaking just above us.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± she ask immediately, ¡°Nothing broken? Are you in any pain?¡±


    Only pain I am experiencing is the feeling of being alive. The second pain is the brightness of her Aura.


    ¡°My heads a bit fuzzy,¡± I tell her, ¡°But otherwise I am fine-


    -fine, you got hit by a car!¡± she exclaims with worry.


    Who does this body belong to anyway? A minute ago, she called me Dad. Feeling the body I have been given, buttoned shirt. With a belt with many things, there is a shield on my chest. Feeling the engraving O.P.D.</a>, underneath it Troy Holland. O.P.D.</a> O.P.D.</a> Looking at her now, black slacks, a button-down shirt, a belt with utility tools on it. Fucking pricks! Did they put me in the body of a Mortal Enforcer? Is this a joke!? Did Eras put me in this Mortal Veil as a joke!? Did he find this funny!? Slowly, pulling the shield to look at it better, Oakside Police Department. Fuck! When I return to the cosmos. I am going to -


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    -do you know who I am?¡± she ask me.


    I take a quick glance at her shield, Lacie Holland.


    ¡°Lacie, my daughter,¡± she called me Dad when I was entering his body.


    ¡°I just wanted to make sure, that jerk sped so fast down the road,¡± she begins, ¡°Do you need help up?¡± Now she¡¯s standing up. She¡¯s on standby.


    ¡°No,¡± I say lifting myself up. She frowns with disapproval.


    ¡°You just got ran over-


    -and I am living and breathing,¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t just something you can shrug off,¡± she frowns.


    ¡°And, yet, I am, see nothing broken¡± I do a few jumps up and down to prove it, ¡°Working legs. Working lungs. Heart.¡±


    ¡°I called Florian, I didn¡¯t know what else to do, and he sent an ambulance over,¡± Lacie tells me. As she is explaining this, that very ambulance is rushing over. A spinning, flashing light. She gives me a concerned look. Fuck. More Mortals to deal with. Fooling her was easy.


    ¡°Lacie, I thought you said he was unconscious!¡± a man is rushing out of the driver''s side of the vehicle.


    ¡°He was,¡± Lacie looks up at me.


    ¡°And now I am walking,¡± I state.


    The Mortal Man with the dark hair looks me over, and then at Lacie, ¡°Can I check you over Troy?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Mortals are always a worrisome bunch.


    ¡°Come on old man, don¡¯t be stubborn you got ran over,¡± he tells me.


    Old man!? How old is this body? This just keeps getting shittier and shittier. Doesn¡¯t it? They gave me nothing to work with when it came to finding the Pen. Then again, I don¡¯t think these pricks think I can find the Pen. And even then, I don¡¯t think they trust me to return it. Because I won¡¯t. Once I find it, I¡¯ll kill the Mortal who has the Pen, then use it for myself. Find my way out of this Mortal Bond.


    ¡°It¡¯s a miracle. How many laps around the sidewalk do I have to do to prove that? Want me to do a fucking curtsy,¡± I grumble.


    ¡°Daad, play nice,¡± that look. I don¡¯t need to know much about her, to know that look. I am very good at picking Mortals apart. This man and her are together. She wants to impress him and I am embarrassing her. I say nothing, instead I am looking around for the Mortal¡¯s vehicle.


    Finding the Enforcer¡¯s vehicle. Quickly turning to one of its side mirror. Celestial bastards. I am staring back at my reflection. Some graying haired mortal man. Who is wrinkling. If I had to guess, mid-forties. I thought being stuck in a Mortal Bond was bad enough. Now they have put me in a body with a quicker expiration date. I wonder when I find the Pen and use it on Eras. Will he beg for mercy after the bullshit he¡¯s already put me through?


    ¡°Dad,¡± Lacie is trailing after me.


    ¡°Going back to the department, ¡° that sounds like a reasonable thing to say.


    ¡°You just got ran over?!¡± why does she insist whining about this? Yes, Troy got ran over! But he¡¯s living, has a fucking heartbeat, talking to her. Could she put that point to fucking rest already? I just want to tear apart her mind and get to the Pen as quickly as I can. Not deal with miss sunshine.


    ¡°Can we just be glad I am alive, and put the whole running thing over to rest already,¡±


    What¡¯s with her face?! Am I supposed to attend to her emotions now, ¡°That is a terrible joke.¡± she tells me with sadness in her eyes.


    I didn¡¯t make any jokes!


    ¡°Hey Lacie,¡± the ambulance driver is now walking over. Celestials! Can we move the fuck on?


    ¡°Sorry about him,¡± Lacie smiles, ¡°He says he is fine.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, okay,¡± he gives me one more look, before looking at Lacie, ¡°If anything happens, call me.¡± he tells her softly. She smiles. She brightens up just a little.


    ¡°Thank you Reese,¡± she says, ¡°And I will.¡±


    Ignoring the two of them and entering the vehicle. Do I have to wait for her? I suppose it would be out of character for her Dad to drive off. But we didn¡¯t need to stand around this long. Why can¡¯t Mortals be grateful when another person is alive and well.

 Quinn 15 - Downtown - Avenue View Apartments

    Elaine is sitting out front of her apartment complex. Charles glances my way. Flowers and ¡°Sorry for your Loss¡± cards decorate her apartment door. They have a lot of friends who come and go, who hand her flowers or make her dinners for the evenings.


    ¡°Is she okay?¡± Charles asks.


    Elaine is currently sobbing at her front door, hesitating to walk into her own apartment. I admit I don¡¯t understand her grief, shouldn¡¯t she feel relieved? Safe, even. Her husband was cruel. It didn¡¯t happen every night, but every other night an argument would explode into violence. Chairs would fall to the ground with a slam, Lukas would shout at the top of his lungs. Elaine would shriek and afterwards she would flee the apartment, crying, sitting outside of the front door the way she is now. Shouldn¡¯t she feel relief right now?


    ¡°Her husband died recently,¡± I tell Charles quietly.


    ¡°That¡¯s awful,¡± Charles looks sad.


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t really a nice man,¡± I tell Charles earnestly, ¡°the two of them were always arguing. He beat her, more than she yelled at him.¡±


    Charles fixes his gaze on me. While I am digging out my keys from the front pocket of my backpack. Charles wanders off, walking to Elaine. She looks tired, her hair isn¡¯t brushed, and there are bags under her eyes. She notices the two of us; Elaine looks up with red puffy eyes.


    ¡°Do you two,¡± she pauses, clearing her throat, ¡°need something?¡± she sounds somber.


    ¡°You seemed to be having a rough time,¡± Charles tells her softly, ¡°Do you want to talk? I heard about what happened. Sorry if you didn¡¯t want me to know.¡±


    Elaines plucks at a loose strand of the carpeted hallway, ¡°You boys are sweet.¡± she pauses, taking a moment to collect herself, ¡°They wouldn¡¯t.¡± her lips quiver, she trying not to cry again, ¡°Detain me that night. I know that sounds silly, but I hadn¡¯t checked. The department determined there was no foul play and sent me on my way. How out of it was I that I didn¡¯t check? I bought the wrong drink?! Was I distracted? How could I?¡±


    She blames herself?


    ¡°Accidents happen,¡± Charles tells her, ¡°I know that sounds like the same thing people tell you all the time, but it comes from a place of understanding on my part. I had to learn that accidents happen sometimes, and it¡¯s easy to blame ourselves, it¡¯s much harder to recognize it can happen to anyone.¡±


    Elaine looks at him, ¡°Thank you.¡± she whispers quietly.


    The current expectation of this situation is to sound concerned and be supportive, ¡°Can I get you some water?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°You¡¯re fine dear, you don¡¯t have to worry about me,¡± Elaine smiles, ¡°Cherish your friend.¡±


    She stands up. Looks at her front door as if it is some great beast she has to overcome. She inhales, then exhales, and then disappears behind it. Her mourning makes me wonder how others will react to Karma in the future. She didn¡¯t seem so free. I assumed someone in her position would have been happier, relieved, in fact. Why does she love a monster who clearly hurt her, physically, emotionally? I don¡¯t understand it. I am left confused as to why she would blame herself when it was Lukas actions that killed him.


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    ¡°Should we head to mine?¡± I ask Charles.


    Charles looks at the door. He nods, ¡°Yeah sure.¡±


    To be perfectly truthful, I find myself feeling agitated. This must be agitation. My chest, tightening. My ears, burning. It feels a little ungrateful that I gave her an out, a way for her to achieve freedom, to do whatever she has ever wanted to do that he barred her from doing. And yet, she doesn¡¯t feel free. She doesn¡¯t feel safe, instead she has taken the blame for his death. She¡¯s not celebrating or starting her life over.


    ¡°You good?¡± Charles asks while I open the front door.


    ¡°I am fine,¡± I tell him, ¡°Thank you for hanging out with me.¡±


    ¡°I owe you a proper chance to get to know you,¡± Charles tells me.


    ¡°Poor lady,¡± Charles states, taking off his shoes.


    I felt sorry for her. My heart broke for her when Lukas treated her so poorly. I do not really understand why she would mourn someone like that. This is why Karma exists, he¡¯s supposed to be the people¡¯s guardian. The Pen has given me power I didn¡¯t have before, to protect the people the police won¡¯t protect. Why didn¡¯t they protect Elaine from someone like Lukas? Why didn¡¯t they help her when they should have? Why did it go this far? True Lukas was an accident, but it irritates me she blames herself and feels guilty.


    ¡°Quinn,¡± Charles has put our homework on the coffee table, he¡¯s taking out a pair of glasses he doesn¡¯t wear in class.


    ¡°You feel bad for Elaine,¡± I clarify, ¡°Why don¡¯t you wear those in class?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I feel bad for Elaine,¡± Charles looks away embarrassed, ¡°I don¡¯t want to get made fun of.¡± he tells me. He also didn¡¯t want to go into my bedroom today, on the way home he told me this.


    ¡°Lukas was an abuser,¡± I tell Charles, ¡°Shouldn¡¯t she be happy he is dead?¡±


    Charles looks paler than usual. ¡°You think she should be happy because her husband is dead?¡± he asks me, ¡°That was still her husband. They United for a reason. There must have been pieces of him she still loved.¡±


    Looking back at my Dad¡¯s urn sitting on the bookshelf, ¡°My Dad used to be a very warm person, I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s just me coloring things in because I was a child. But at the end of the day, he grew bitter. He wasn¡¯t the same person that I may have loved in the past. In truth, we were relieved when he died.¡±


    Charles takes a second, he¡¯s trying to understand. He cautiously puts a hand on my hand, ¡°I am sure that was pretty difficult to deal with Quinn. But no one wishes for other people to be dead. I think that¡¯s the way they cope because the damage hasn¡¯t been healed.¡±


    He¡¯s not finished because he seems to recall a thought, ¡°I had a little sister. Had. I say had because she passed away. My Mom still blames herself for the accident from time to time. Elaine reminded me of my Mom. An accident. There was no one to blame. No one is truly at fault. But people tend to feel better when they can justify something awful happening by blaming themselves. Because the idea of just an accident happening is hard to wrap around.¡±


    I don¡¯t see it that way, really. Lukas was obviously the abuser, and he had obviously been allowed to get away with his behavior. People like Lukas rarely change.  If people are going to blame themselves for being liberated, then what is even the point of fantasizing justice for them?


    Charles pauses, ¡°It¡¯s funny because my Dad doesn¡¯t understand why my Mom blames herself, when the other driver lost control of their vehicle in the snow. And even then, the other driver wasn¡¯t necessarily at fault either. It wasn¡¯t like their intentions were sinister.¡±


    ¡°I just don¡¯t see how it isn¡¯t natural to want the person who did the wrong, to face repercussions. Did the driver at least die as well?¡±


    Charles scrunches up his face. He looks uncomfortable, ¡°You say some really morbid things sometimes, Quinn. I feel bad because I should have reached out to you sooner. I let the other kids create a narrative for me about the type of person you are and I never decided that for myself. Does saying stuff like that usually get other kids to leave you alone?¡±


    ¡°Well, you ignored me,¡±


    ¡°I guess that¡¯s a good point to ma-


    *Bang*

 Trista 3 - Oakside Police Department

    Maybe I can make the most out of this Mortal Bond. Mortal Enforcement isn¡¯t too bad. I can use their resources to find odd recent deaths. Soon The Pen will be in my hands. I''ll get rid of the Mortal who is using it. Then find my way back into the Realms. I don¡¯t care for Mortal¡¯s arbitrary laws. Or upholding them. Won¡¯t be here long though. Won¡¯t have to uphold them for long. Won¡¯t be here long.


    ¡°Troy,¡± who the fuck is this golden, flowery fuck boy. I¡¯m being approached by some short, slender built, platinum blonde, man with a fashionable haircut. Big round glasses with a pretty golden glasses chain, hiding big round blue eyes. HIs features are petite, slender, and somewhat feminine.


    Oh that¡¯s because, ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I heard you got run over,¡± she says.


    ¡°I am fine, no breaks, I am walking,¡± I gesture to my Mortal meat prison.


    She squeezes the bridge of her nose in thought, ¡°I can see that. I heard other reports, they said you weren¡¯t conscious-


    -well I am conscious now, ma¡¯am,¡±


    She looks genuinely ticked. Furrowing her blonde eyebrows, though you can barely see them with how blonde they are, ¡°I hope that is a joke, Troy. And that you start correctly identifying me. I am not kind to jokes like that, and I have the right to suspend you. I mean that is the right thing to do in this situation.¡±


    Uh sir? She is a He? Er, he looks like a woman, ¡°Yeah, one big joke.¡±


    Reading the name on the badge Lysander sighs, he looks somewhat worryingly at me, ¡°I am putting a lot of trust in you Troy. Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I am fine, you want to punch me in the ribs to figure out whether I am lying-


    -now that would definitely break something,¡± Lysander smiles, ¡°Fine. I need to ask a favor from you. I really shouldn¡¯t be sending an officer who just got run over to take this call, but I think you¡¯re best suited for the area. We just got a report of a gunshot. Avenue View Apartments, Downtown Oakside. How they even got a gun is beyond me, I am going to have to look into the address, however, I need someone to check up on the situation.¡±


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Fuck. I wanted to find the Pen quickly. I didn¡¯t want to be here long. Find the Pen. Kill the Mortal. Those were my objectives. Not actually play Mortal Enforcer.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you send someone over? I just got run over,¡± I ask.


    Lysander raises a brow, ¡°You said you were fine-


    -suddenly I am not-


    -why are you avoiding this?¡± Lysander ask.


    ¡°Er, just, pulling your leg, does anyone know what¡¯s going on?¡±


    Lysander takes a second, he frowns, ¡°The address belongs to the same report we got last month ago where a man asphyxiated due to an allergic reaction. We deemed it an accidental allergic reaction and absolved the wife of detainment. I am just covering my bases.¡±


    Interesting. How do I make it sound like I know what I am talking about? While getting enough information.


    ¡°You think they are related?¡± I ask.


    ¡°I think something strange is happening,¡± Lysander tells me earnestly, he really trusts this Troy fellow. I can use that to my advantage as well, ¡°We don¡¯t see this many deaths in town, beside natural causes. Now it feels like death is preying upon people.¡±


    Ugh. He¡¯s the poetic type.


    ¡°Sure,¡± I nod, ¡°Avenue View Apartments. Got it. Going.¡±


    All I have to do is go there, and whether or not it¡¯s an actual suicide, they will accept whatever the fuck I write. Mortals are dumb and lazy usually anyway. Turning around, guess back out the front door, as Lacie seems to have returned from her workstation. She looks at me. I look back at her.


    ¡°Been sent on a scavenger hunt,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°Daaad,¡± Lacie protests, ¡°You cannot call a shooting a scavenger hunt.¡±


    ¡°I can,¡± I tell her, leading her out of the department and towards the car parked in front.


    Maybe I can use their relationship to get more information out of her, ¡°Lysander seems on edge. You think something is going on?¡± I ask.


    Lacie looks at me, ¡°That a rhetorical question?¡± she ask, ¡°It¡¯s all of these strange deaths that have been happening around town as of late. They have no connection. At least they appear to have no connection, but some think Florian is looking for needles in a needlestack-


    -is that a real common phrase-


    -it¡¯s the right one to use in this context-


    -so a string of odd deaths, you could say-


    -why are you being so weird? Are you okay? Do I need to go back in there and ask Florian to give you the day off?¡±


    Opening the car door.


    ¡°No, I am just getting the pieces together, he seems to think there is some kind of connection with the shooting and the man who suffocated,¡± I tell her while getting into the driver¡¯s side. I did all right driving a Mortal car back to the department. She didn¡¯t complain. Or act scared. So that¡¯s a win. That I can at least fake knowing what I am doing.


    Lacie smiles, she looks proud, ¡°You¡¯re amazing Dad. Like a real investigator, trying to put all the pieces together.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, real investigator,¡±


    Fuck. How do I get out of this? Get to the apartment. Report some bullshit. Hand it over. Find the Pen. Look into these string of accidental deaths. Use it to locate the Pen. Kill the Mortal using it.

 Quinn 16- Downtown - Avenue View Apartments

    Her head has exploded, bits of her brain matter can even be seen in the kitchen despite the fact she blew her head off near the window. The window is cracked, bits of her hair glisten on shards of broken glass. Her face misshapen like a deflated pumpkin.


    ¡°The police are coming,¡± Charles states at the door frame. Hesitant to walk into the apartment. She didn¡¯t even lock the door behind her when she walked in after we spoke. I wonder if she is free now. I wonder if this was better than Lukas dying. Staring at her flattened face, bones jutting out, lower jaw dangling from what was her chin.


    Is she free now? A part of me feels frustrated. Frustrated, that''s a new one.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Charles asks me.


    I know how I am supposed to answer when you see something like this. I am supposed to be like Charles. Scared. Hesitant. Should I be concerned that I cannot muster fear?


    ¡°I think I am fine,¡± I tell him.


    ¡°It¡¯s sad, isn¡¯t it,¡± Charles says, ¡°Do you think she is happy now?¡±


    How could she be? Do dead people feel anything? How could Elaine¡¯s love for Lukas mean more than her own liberation? I don¡¯t understand why she would love someone like Lukas, love him enough to kill herself? Why did she kill herself?


    ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± I tell him, ¡°Do you? Why?¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Charles frowns sadly, ¡°I know she must have been brave. To be in that much pain, and try to live as best as she could. I feel really bad for her.¡±


    ¡°You think she¡¯s brave?¡± I ask.


    ¡°What about you?¡±


    I think she¡¯s ungrateful.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand why she would kill herself, after the person who loved her treated her so poorly. Do you think he broke her?¡±


    Charles looks at me, he looks uncomfortable, ¡°What would make you say something like that?¡±


    ¡°Mom and I heard them arguing almost every night. A lot of yelling, a lot of banging around, Elaine seemed sad even then. So, why would she kill herself?¡±


    ¡°Because she didn¡¯t want him dead,¡± Charles tells me.


    That seems illogical. If someone hurts you. And they won¡¯t stop hurting you and there is no way to stop them. Then if they died you should be grateful. Happy. This entire situation frustrates me and makes me angry. How am I supposed to help people when they are ungrateful for the help they receive?


    ¡°Why would she want him alive?¡±


    Charles scowls, ¡°Can we get out of this apartment and can we drop the topic? It¡¯s kind of creepy.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡±


    ¡°Thank you Quinn,¡±


    Creepy. Huh. Why is our society like this? Why don¡¯t we question relationships like Elaine and Lukas? Is Charles supporting an abusive relationship for love? Lukas was better off dead.


    Stepping out of their apartment, my Mom is rushing up the stairs, ¡°Are you two okay?¡± she ask.


    Charles looks uncomfortably behind him, he nervously looks at my Mom, ¡°I am going home. I don¡¯t feel well.¡±


    ¡°I am so sorry, hun,¡± Mom tells him, pushing back some of his copper wire hair out of his eyes, and kissing his forehead, ¡°I worry for you the same way I worry for Quinn.¡±


    ¡°Thank you Ma¡¯am,¡± Charles smiles.


    ¡°Of course,¡± she pulls him tightly in with a hug, warmly embracing him, ¡°I want you to see me as a second Mom to rely on.¡±


    He nods.


    ¡°Thank you, Ma¡¯am,¡±


    She let¡¯s go, helping him to the stairs. Rubbing his back softly, when he is out of sight. She looks at me, ¡°Were the police called?¡±


    ¡°They were called,¡±


    ¡°And they are coming?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡±


    She nods, ¡°Well let¡¯s get inside. I am sure they will have questions.¡±

 Magi 9 - Midtown Shopping District

    Sitting in the rental car outside of the midtown shopping center, looking over the security video transferred over;


    -Nothing notable jumps out. Morrison sits alone near the bar counter and orders a few drinks.


    -Morrison doesn¡¯t seem nervous, in fact he seems relatively calm


    -No one seems to notice him much in the bar either


    In fact, the only thing I can notice that is odd about this video is when he orders his last drink, there is a distinct warble in the camera. The video feed noticeably skips, but it doesn¡¯t seem to be tampered with. Though I admit I know little about these sorts of things. I¡¯ll have to ask someone at the department, when I arrive, about the distinct warble. I pause the video. Move the cursor back, just before the jittery camera shimmer. There¡¯s something there, though I cannot make it out. Maybe the video was tampered with? But why hadn¡¯t the policed noticed when they investigated beforehand?


    ¡°Found anything interesting?¡± Wolf returns, she¡¯s opened the driver¡¯s side and sits inside the vehicle.


    ¡°A video distortion,¡± I tell her.


    She sets a cardboard box between us in the center console of the car.


    ¡°Those darn video distortions, gets you every time,¡± she smiles, while leaning over the console, staring over at the tablet. I press play. She raises her brow. She¡¯s not entirely impressed, ¡°Wow. The video jiggled a little.¡± she laughs.


    She¡¯s a little right. This seems like I called the Herald for plane tickets to Oakside without really anything substantial to back up my hunch, and one little video distortion doesn¡¯t amount to much. I haven¡¯t really developed a case and with such bare minimum evidence. It¡¯s sort of like finding a random puzzle in the attic to find out,to fill the box. Someone put a bunch of random pieces together and none of them go together. I need to find the thing that links them together. That or I have made a poor bet.


    ¡°Tada,¡± she¡¯s opened the flaps of the box, presenting-


    -Meat on a stick, ¡°Looks good, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Wolf asks me with a smile.


    ¡°It¡¯s meat on a stick,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°Yakitori,¡± she corrects.


    ¡°I see,¡± I respond.


    She raises a brow, ¡°its shish kabobs from Aoi Islands. And there is rice, there see.¡± she points, ¡°Figured we could share. Can¡¯t investigate video distortions with no lunch.¡±


    ¡°Shish Kabob? Is there a major difference between kebab and shish kabob?¡±


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Wolf raises her brow and looks at me, ¡°You¡¯re telling me you¡¯re the reputable investigator and you don¡¯t know the difference between the two.¡±


    ¡°There is a significant enough difference,¡±


    She laughs.


    ¡°It¡¯s, oh like oh what¡¯s the phrase, all toads are frogs, but not all frogs are toads. All shish kabobs are kebabs, but not all kebabs are shish kabobs. Shish Kabobs are grilled, Kebabs are roasted,¡±


    ¡°Meat on a stick is much simpler than that,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°Really, I think that¡¯s a lot more words,¡± she smiles, and looks at me, ¡°So, there is a person behind those walls after all.¡±


    A person behind these walls? She¡¯s extended olive branches to me before, I wonder if this her attempt of getting to know me. I admit, I let my guard slip just a little around her. Though I have learned the cost of letting someone in before. Perhaps she is right again.I am allowing myself to be haunted by things that have happened in the past. I know I am prone to numbing myself in situations like this. Yet, I cannot risk her knowing me. My Father trusts her for her professionalism, and I trust her for the same professionalism that my father so approves of. Yet, I don¡¯t know if I can trust her olive branch.


    She waves a napkin in my face, ¡°You love to go inside your own head. Must help with investigating. Doesn¡¯t make for great lunch conversation though, I don¡¯t have telepathy.¡±


    ¡°You might,¡± I remark.


    ¡°See, that¡¯s funny. Here, I asked for a bowl to serve you some rice,¡± she tells me.


    "Thank you,¡±


    ¡°And here I thought I was going to get more failed attempts at socialization,¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t fail that badly,¡±


    ¡°Jeremy was looking at you like you grew a third eye,¡±


    ¡°How else was I supposed to react when-


    -I remained the height of professionalism-


    -if that¡¯s professionalism, what is unprofessionalism?¡±


    ¡°I blur the lines,¡± she gives me a teasing smile.


    ¡°You do that a lot,¡± I tell her earnestly.


    She hands me the to-go bowl with rice, and meat on a stick, ¡°Maybe.¡± she tells me more earnestly, ¡°But you¡¯re not a robot. You have needs, like eating lunch. Or a need for human connection. I might be someone who looks like just a jokester, but I am smarter than I look. I have been with you for only nine months and your lifestyle is slightly depressing. Isolated in hotels. When was the last time you let your hair down just a little? If you live your life worried about the consequences of living it, you¡¯ll never actually live. I get your circumstance is different. I am protecting you from would be harm. But the most fearful thing I think, to your would be assassins would be to live your life in spite of them. I have your back. I know a few good moves too.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to imply you weren¡¯t insightful-


    -I know,¡± she interjects.


    She¡¯s so confident even when she knows the risks. She laughs, I suppose, to make danger nervous. That makes little sense when I simply put it like that. She laughs despite knowing the risks. She rather much embrace life to its fullest than to simply watch it from the outside. That¡¯s something I am particularly bad at that sort of thing, to laugh despite the danger. I am much better at observing and remaining at a distance. The only actual connection I have with others is telling their untold stories when they can no longer speak it. Death stays with me often more than laughter. That might be because of my job. Because I force myself to care for every person dead or alive I come across. Because I worry about losing my humanity. Though the truth of the matter is that I probably have lost it when the only Human connection are the ones I have from a distance.


    ¡°I love reading thoughts,¡± she teases.


    ¡°Thank you for lunch,¡±


    She sighs.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to investigate Zoe¡¯s Cell,¡± I add.


    She further sighs, ¡°Maybe they weren¡¯t thoughts. You were just programming your A.I.¡±

 Trista 4- Downtown - Avenue View Apartments

    Fuck me.


    This place is an absolute shithole.


    You can barely even tell this is in the same fucking city. All the brick buildings around here look rundown and old. Some of them even have wooden planks boarding up what used to be convenient stores, each word mart, fainter than the last. While graffiti is scrawled on the walls, with busted up cars. While just sitting at the edge of this little pocket of shit, is a construction site of a brand new shiny, coming soon department store. Almost like a fucking premonition of the future of a place like this.


    Avenue View Apartments, huh. This place looks like the type of place someone has likely overdosed dead in. Forgotten. And only remembered when they smell. The front entrance sort of has that scent. A blood stain has sort of greeted us.


    Meanwhile, no one in the leasing office even greets us. Despite the woman wearing floral printed shirts. And looking put together. They do their jobs like zombies. Just looking to get out of the literal apartment of death. Even with my abilities significantly weakened right now, Phantoms lurk in the corners.


    A lot of them make homes here. Feeding off the fucking misery of Humans. Gorging themselves on their tragedy. And here they lurk. Hulking shadows doping on the negativity, feeding, until they have turned into right old nasty energies themselves. Powerful enough to affect Human devices.


    And definitely powerful enough for Humans to feel them. As a Human man looks behind him, not realizing the Phantom using his misery as easy steroids.


    Heading up the stairs to the third floor. This place is sad. Miserable. Every door. Every person here seems to have the life sucked right out of them. The scent of dejection. This place should be condemned. Maybe the tractors and wrecking balls across the street will do everyone a favor.


    ¡°Apartment 3-D2,¡± Lacie states, while we head up. She seems uncomfortable. Then again, Mortals like her don¡¯t do well in places like this. She¡¯s such a bright beacon of positive energy the Phantoms around here seem eager to feed on her. Her pretty little Aura. Made of wings of rainbow light. It¡¯s been a while since the Phantoms around here have fed on something so positive. She can sense them. She may not have the Sight. But since they are so literally engorged. As they surround her. Hungry. She shudders, looking around. ¡°This place gives me the creeps.¡±


    The Phantoms seem to back off. Once they recognize what I am. Now some of them seem curious about why I am here. With a Mortal girl like this. Do I plan to feed on her? Probably not. I am not like them. Lazy. With simple goals and simple motivations. But they know who I am. Even in this Mortal Bond they can sense who I present.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Passing 3-D1 I feel a charge in the air. That¡¯s? I have physically been in contact with the Artifact before. The power behind that door. Why haven¡¯t the other Phantoms tried to slip in and take the Pen for themselves? Are they all that stupid and lazy?


    ¡°Did they call it in?¡± I ask pointing to the door.


    Lacie looks over, ¡°Someone on the floor did.¡±


    I nod, ¡°I am just going to ask a few questions.¡± That seems Mortal Enforcer enough.


    Fuck Eras. Once I get my hand on the Pen, he¡¯s going to regret throwing me down here. In this Mortal Bond. Kill the Mortal. Take the Pen. This feels relatively too easy. Almost convenient. Has Eras constructed this entire thing? Did he know about events to come? Prick.


    Knocking on the door. Asshole. When I am done here. I am going to make him regret putting me in this Mortal Bond. I just have to figure a way back to the Realms somehow.


    The door opens. It¡¯s answered by a woman.


    Well, this is very fucking interesting.


    Her Aura is blooming of dark purples and reds, a beautiful blackish, purple, rose. She smiles warmly at me, pushing back her wavy hair behind her ears while adjusting her round glasses. This woman is dangerous. That gesture was entirely ungenuine. She comes off meek, but that¡¯s really all a lie.


    ¡°Can I help you, officer?¡± she asks softly.


    ¡°I wanted to get a statement,¡± I tell her, ¡°About the suicide next door.¡±


    ¡°That would be my son and his friend. His friend went home, however, he wasn¡¯t feeling well. I hope that isn¡¯t a problem,¡± she tells me. She¡¯s very good at pretending. Isn¡¯t she? ¡°I can get my son. But only if he¡¯s comfortable handing a statement.¡±


    She gestures for me to walk in. There were so many Phantoms before. Around, clinging on walls, wandering hallways. Entering rooms. But this place seems relatively clean.


    Well, besides the Artifact being around. I can sense it down the hall. She smiles, wordlessly asking for a moment as she wanders down the hall to knock on the door, ¡°Quentin, there is an officer here who would like to speak with you.¡±


    I wonder what toxic spawn this woman has manifested. Or maybe she birthed a meek child that she could control. The door opens gingerly. I am not sure if I am looking at a boy or a girl. Though I suppose that¡¯s more of the traditional way. Some punk looking kid, with straight black hair.


    What she created is an abomination, staring back at me. Deadness. Avoid of all emotion in his brown, nearly black eyes. He smiles, but it comes off sinister. While his Aura flickers. On and off. Like the flame of a candle.


    Now what do you do Trista? Just pretend not to notice.


    ¡°I just had a few questions,¡± I tell him with a smile.


    He doesn¡¯t seem impressed.


    ¡°Of course officer,¡±


    Ordinarily, I wouldn¡¯t deal with kids like this. Hard to bend. Hard to break. But I have to try. Especially since I believe the Artifact is in his room. He shifts his attention behind him. Then back at me. I am going to have to try.


    ¡°Can I get your name?¡± I ask him.


    ¡°Quentin Klaus, though I go by Quinn,¡± he tells me politely.


    ¡°Nice name, can we talk in the hallway?¡± I look over at the woman. Then back at Quinn. Quinn looks behind him, then back at me. He nods gingerly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know much, but I will do my best to help,¡± he¡¯s just faking Human, isn¡¯t he?

 Quinn 17- Downtown - Avenue View Apartments

    Troy, is it? He¡¯s an older gentleman, with graying hair. It¡¯s hard to tell what used to be his natural hair color and what is gray. His face is aging, with worry lines, but he doesn¡¯t seem worried. He¡¯s harder to read than most people. Most people are easy to read, I usually can find something that I can use. His posture doesn¡¯t match his appearance. He comes off cocky, but the wrinkles in his clothes, the worry lines on his face, suggest an anxious, isolated person.


    ¡°I¡¯ll cut to the chase,¡± he tells me. He speaks in a gravelly tone. He grabs me by the bicep harshly and pulls me over closer to the stairs.


    ¡°Are you allowed to touch me like that?¡± I ask him.


    ¡°I am not a Police officer,¡± he barks, ¡°You have something I want. My name isn¡¯t Troy. My name is Trista. Ah, it worked, which means you have the Sight.¡±


    He¡¯s not making much sense. I¡¯ll play along.


    ¡°I have something you want?¡± I ask him curiously, ¡°Also, just because you¡¯re not an officer, supposedly, I still don¡¯t think you¡¯re allowed to touch me like that.¡±


    ¡°The Celestial Artifact, it¡¯s in your apartment right now, isn¡¯t it,¡± he states.


    He means The Pen? Looking back down the hall, what does he know? Is he someone I can use then? Maybe he can help me. Maybe he is who I need if Cassandra becomes useless.


    ¡°Celestial Artifact?¡± I feign stupid.


    He seems annoyed with me.


    ¡°Eras¡¯ Artifact,¡± he pauses, ¡°you probably see it as an object. A Pen most likely.¡±


    Oh. So he wants the Pen. Why?


    ¡°Why would you want a silly Pen? Are you the original owner?¡± I pretend I don¡¯t know what he is talking about, which ticks him off further.


    ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb with me,¡± he barks, ¡°You¡¯ve been using it. You¡¯re the one who has.¡± he pauses, looking down the hall, making sure no one else is coming, ¡°been the reason for the string of odd deaths.¡±


    So he figured that out? I don¡¯t entirely buy the whole he¡¯s not an officer. If I confess, he¡¯ll likely arrest me. I need proof that he isn¡¯t an officer or that he will not detain me.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Say something that proves you¡¯re not an officer, or Troy,¡± I stare at his badge.


    ¡°The Pen is a Celestial Artifact, it is a piece of Eras the Ferryman. He¡¯s the one who processes the Spirits, shifting them from one Realm to the next, when they have completed and accepted their death and no longer bind themselves to their Mortal Concept,¡±


    ¡°Now you just sound crazy,¡±


    ¡°Crazy? You¡¯re using an artifact to kill people. That looks like a Pen, and that¡¯s fucking crazy to you?¡±


    He again looks down the hall. He¡¯s making sure someone else doesn¡¯t hear our conversation.


    ¡°I never said anything about that, you¡¯re just assuming,¡±


    ¡°I am not fucking blind. I can sense the Pen in your apartment,¡±


    ¡°Are you okay? Do you need to see some professional help?¡±


    He looks frustrated with me and grips my shoulder with his hand, ¡°I am trying really hard not to fucking kill you in the middle of this hallway. Especially since there is another officer down the hall. Eras sent me here to retrieve the Pen from you. If you haven¡¯t fucking noticed, I been placed in an officer¡¯s body. I know how to use the Pen. So, start caring about your life right now, or I will rend your mind into pieces and take the Pen.¡±


    How am I supposed to react to a situation like this? Is he trying to scare me? Why don¡¯t I feel scared at this moment? A new something. This is - excitement. Why am I excited at this moment? I am certain I am supposed to feel some sort of fear. That is the expectation. Or intimidated. And while Elaine¡¯s death frustrates me, this moment makes me joyful.


    ¡°Why did you talk to me, instead of coming and killing me later?¡± I ask him curiously.


    ¡°That¡¯s the fucking question you¡¯re going to ask me?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re going to rend my mind or kill me, then do it. If not, then why should I be scared?¡±


    ¡°Do you not understand your situation?¡±


    I understand it very well. According to him, he¡¯s claim that a Celestial sent him to retrieve the Pen. I don¡¯t entirely believe him. Celestials are something people made up so they could justify their ethics and own morality, and while it has done some good in the world, the reason the Humanists Counsel exists. But plenty of people like Zoe and other folk have used it as an excuse to do horrible things.


    ¡°I understand it, and I don¡¯t entirely believe you,¡±


    ¡°How can you not?!¡± he exclaims.


    ¡°You want me to believe a Celestial sent you from another Realm to retrieve the Pen and that you¡¯re, what, exactly, someone named Trista who is in the body of Troy? Like possession?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a Mortal Bond. When a Spirit leaves a body, a body is a vessel that is left empty, you can bind other Spirits or in this case a Phantom into a Mortal Bond,¡±


    ¡°Prove it,¡± I give him a smile.


    He growls, ¡°You¡¯re one annoying kid. And you don¡¯t even realize that you¡¯re just a tool.¡±


    A tool?


    ¡°You think someone is using me?¡± I ask him, ¡°That¡¯s rich. I did this on my own. I decided.¡±


    Is this his plan? Is he attempting to bully me into making a deal with him?


    ¡°Fine,¡± he shouts, ¡°I¡¯ll prove it. But not now. Give me a way to contact you.¡±


    I wonder how he¡¯ll attempt to prove it to me.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I tell him.


    He looks away briefly, ¡°Er. You¡¯re going to have to show me how to use your Mortal Device."


    Um? He means, ¡°The cellphone?¡± I ask him.


    ¡°Yes, that,¡± he grumbles.

 Intermission: I Owe You Dear Reader an Explanation

    I made a promise to you, dear readers, that I wouldn''t be abandoning this project. And as we speak the manuscript is complete sitting nestled in its little folder, waiting to be edited. The way I release these chapters to you, is by editing the chapters with a team of editors and then set these chapters to schedule and release.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    In October I work a seasonal job at a haunted house and thought that this wouldn''t affect upload schedule. Well it seems it has affected upload schedule. For those sticking it out, thank you kindly I appreciate it. Chapters will be coming soon, and to make it up to you guys I will be attempting to put up all the chapters I missed in the last two weeks up.

 Dear Reader

    I am back after my long haitus. I apologize that all of that work got in the way of my upload schedule. But now that my seasonal work is over and I have more time, uploads will be back to their regularly scheduled upload schedule. I do deeply apologize and for those who have been patiently waiting, thank you.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Affairs of Demons and Men will now return to it''s twice a week Tuesday and Friday schedule. And I plan to have some bonus chapters in the next couple of weeks to make up for October''s dry spell.

 To The Reader: So I Died for 3 Months and Deeply Apologize

    No I haven''t abandoned shipped, the Manuscript is 100% done. I tend to write my projects in advanced. I ended up overestimated the holidays kicking my ass. In October, I work at a Haunted House, and ended up busier than I expected this year. In November I am pretty sure I caught Omicron Covid. In December, I have PTSD, and Christmas is a very triggering time of year. So I was dealing with PTSD trigger, October and November burn out, on top of December burn out. I do have Autism on top of CPTSD, and needed a lot more time to recover.


    Hopefully you''re still here, this ship hasn''t been abandoned and there is a reason why this ship crashed, but didn''t burn. The captain ended up dying for a brief moment. However, after recovery, time to recollect myself I am alive enough to start editing the manuscript again and get chapters up again.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    I am big on being transparent, with my readers and the reason why I chose web serial as the vehicle for distributing my works is because of this very reason. I have a lot of mental struggles, and I just ran out of the spoons/energy to edit at the time. I deeply apologize, if that has affected those who were enjoying this project.


    I hope to have appeased you slightly with the brand new cover. And expect to see a chapter next Tuesday. And I have asked my editors to threaten me somehow to make sure I uphold that promise.


    I deeply love this project. And have deeply missed working on it. I also have some other things in the works in the background as well.


    Yours Truly,


    Clyde

 Magi 10 - Anderson County Penitentiary

    Outside of Oakside city limits the scenery changes from Industrial architecture to open fields overlooking both the Anderson Port City bay and fields leading into untouched forest. Past the tree line is Northern Waters, that surround the collection of islands that create the Pearl Isles in Anderson Port County. We¡¯re heading to the county penitentiary. I wanted to investigate Zoey¡¯s room before finally meeting with the Oakside police. The treeline vanishes completely. Leaving only barren fields to look at, dotting across the landscape are several solar panels you glimpse them from time to time. Tarmac transforms into a dirt road contained behind a gate. We¡¯re now contained in one massive field, likely a deterrent to those looking to plan an escape outside of Anderson County Penitentiary.


    There¡¯s an irony in this environment, isn¡¯t there? Both Oakside and Anderson City have the look of cities trying to imitate its past, while attempting to metamorphose itself beyond its historical values. I don¡¯t know if that kind of metamorphosis is for the better.


    As the massive complex comes into view. This place is out of the way, and trying to hide despite its size. I find this situation ironic for another reason as well, despite being a part of the system. I don¡¯t see this as its future. In the Celestial Crest, we often detain people only for reformation. We see this behavior as a failure of the system, not the individual.


    Though from what I hear, the Traditionalist have rooted themselves here in the Pearl Isles because they lack support in the Celestial Crest. ¡®


    ¡°The gates are very welcoming,¡± Wolf breaks the long silence between the two of us.


    A second set of gates surround the actual building and its car lot.


    ¡°You think?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°Very authoritarian,¡± Wolf remarks, ¡°I love the; you¡¯re not allowed in and you¡¯re not allowed to leave look of the place. Building is nice too, really says out with the old and in with the new.¡±


    ¡°And what is the old and new in this given scenario?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you know, we have Reformation Center in the Celestial Crest. The Traditionalist really said let¡¯s build a system based on criminalizing people. Nothing wrong we¡¯re doing,¡±


    ¡°Not everyone is a Traditionalist,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°Beep boop-bop, you still loading up conversation mode?¡± Wolf retorts back.


    I hadn¡¯t caught that she was attempting conversation while parking. I don¡¯t think I have thought so much about where I stand in that regard. The Sect or the Traditionalist, technically the Order of the Exalted, have their own set of principles, Oaths, and rules we abide by. We act outside of both the Sect and the Traditionalist. Though the Order has always had connections with the Sect. We gravitate around each other, the Oracles would say.


    Inside, the penitentiary gives off a very different vibe than the outside. It feels like a very well guarded office building. We¡¯re being asked to turn over our pockets before entering a waiting area of white tile linoleum and fluorescent lights. The smell of disinfectant is strong and pungent enough to make you lose your sense of smell. Despite the body scanners, the large lobby area has rows of fabric chairs. The type you might see in an office space. There are five windows ahead of us, receptionist desk.


    ¡°Afternoon,¡± I greet the receptionist.


    She simply taps the window from the opposite side at a lamented card. Visiting hours.


    ¡°I am not visiting,¡± I inform her politely.


    The older, muscular woman ignores me at first. Meanwhile, Wolf is a fixing a crease on the sleeve of her suit blazer.


    "I am actually here to investigate Zoey¡¯s cell,¡± I say.


    The woman eyes us both, up and down, ¡°You don¡¯t look like an investigator.¡±


    ¡°What does an investigator look like?¡± Wolf asks curiously.


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    I try to hide a smile.


    ¡°Well, it certainly doesn¡¯t look like you two,¡± she says.


    Wolf sighs in relief. ¡°Oh good. I was worried there. I didn¡¯t want people to mistake me for the investigator.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know where you got your tip, but I have been told I am not let reporters in to investigate.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not reporters,¡± I respond.


    She continues to look at me suspiciously. This is the second time today this has happened. I rather not have to use this, especially since the penitentiary is so closely tied to the Oakside Police Department. Lysander will probably hear about this. She scoffs when she sees the satin gold of the lining of my black jacket, taking out my shield of service.


    ¡°I am a member of the Order of the Exalted,¡± I say, ¡°Under my authorization I may conduct investigations outside of your orders.¡±


    I slide the shield through the window slit for her to manipulate on her own. To most, our shields look like badges from a bygone era. Something tacked once on armor or worn as a pin on a gambeson. It¡¯s magenta and teal, a saltire separates the two segments of the shield.


    She claws the Celestial Star, etched into the teal side of the shield with her nail.


    ¡°Right, excuse me, I¡¯ll get the Director to speak with you,¡± she says while sliding the shield back.


    Wolf looks at me. ¡°Well, they¡¯ll know we¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°It was inevitable eventually. I think Lysander wanted to keep Zoey¡¯s death from the public eye,¡±


    ¡°So, fancy robot investigator, tell me why we are doing this preliminary investigation? I want to take on the role of the partner who questions your every move.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Mostly entertainment,¡±


    ¡°Two reasons, really. The first reason is simple: to avoid too much noise, the more people you add into an investigation, the more opinions you are adding into the mix. I want to get my ideas down before I hear others take. And secondarily, I wanted to determine if I could trust Lysander¡¯s tip.¡±


    ¡°You came all the way out here and don¡¯t believe it?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that I don¡¯t believe it, but there is a concern, of course, that none of these events connect. I try to keep that in mind. It¡¯s, um, like when you think you have a full set of pieces for a puzzle and then realize someone has mixed pieces from one set to another.¡±


    ¡°Oh, a puzzle piece metaphor, you get extra smart points for that,¡±


    I study her. Is she mocking me? She laughs and smirks, ¡°We have done it folks, we have revealed you¡¯re just an awkward weirdo.¡±


    ¡°I am not an awkward weirdo,¡±


    ¡°Mm, yes, yes, professional you, with your black wool coat, with the shiny gold satin inner layer, and that look on your face because I tripped you up,¡±


    The receptionist eyes us as she slowly places the phone down. She heard us this entire time, didn¡¯t she?


    ¡°The Director will speak with you,¡± she states plainly.


    Speaking of which, I have a series of questions for the Director. I wonder if each room for each occupant here has a security camera feature. If these events are linked, then it is likely I can catch the same distortion on that security camera. It¡¯s a long shot and I am casting a net into the void.


    ¡°You can sit down and wait,¡± the receptionist points to one of the lumpy fabric chairs.


    Also, how did Zoey get hold of a nail in a place like this? From the looks of the front entrance, which is well guarded, with two armed guards. The visiting hours, slim. The receptionists vigilant, to the point they are giving us a hard time. How would anyone slip in to kill Zoey? Or how would anyone slip in to stage a suicide?


    ¡°There is something strange about all of this,¡± I state to Wolf unprompted this time.


    ¡°You can start a conversation, wow proud,¡± she is teasing me? Or mocking me? She seems to recognize it because she does a mental step back. ¡°Sorry, sometimes I forget my filter. Often. I don¡¯t mean to go too hard on you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I tell her, ¡°I am inclined to believe Lysander. As you recall, Zoey killed herself with a loose nail. No ordinary human has the capability of ripping their own skin with as much force as she needed to apply. We have to come into this accepting the fact that someone might be organizing random accidents. I need to determine how this organizer is doing so and how this organizer is exploiting the system,¡±


    ¡°And the police might be defensive if an outsider is attempting to criticize that system,¡±


    ¡°The Order of the Exalted acts outside of their jurisdiction. That doesn¡¯t mean we have their instant trust.¡±


    ¡°Magi, is it?¡± a man calls out, approaching us.


    This is the Director. He looks less like someone taking charge of a penitentiary and more like a surly and disgruntled manager in a store. He¡¯s dressed nicer than the receptionists. Middle-aged, tall, and built. I realize looking at him, this is what the Traditionalist want. He certainly wants me to like him. The Traditionalist want to make money off of this current complex of theirs.


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± I extend out my left hand in greeting.


    He scrunches up his face. He accepts it with his left, ¡°Left handed.¡±


    Not intentionally.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been told that you¡¯re an Order member,¡± he says.


    ¡°I am,¡± I say.


    He eyes me. He doesn¡¯t trust me, ¡°Yes, your Order dictates that I am under Oath to give you whatever you request. If I remember my information correctly.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s correct,¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± he pauses, ¡°Magi, follow me.¡±


    Though I notice, he quickly glances over at the woman behind the window. So, it¡¯s going to be three times today.

 Trista 5 - Driving Downtown

    ¡°Who was that boy?¡± Lacie asks.


    Driving back to the department. Because I have to play this game.


    I don¡¯t have to. Why am I anyway?


    I could have manipulated every Phantom in that apartment. Could have dealt with her. The boy took back the Pen. Then I¡¯ll take down Eras.


    Yet.


    I am not.


    Why not?


    What¡¯s stopping me?


    Don¡¯t tell me its lingering emotions left in this flesh vessel. Are they stopping me? Or maybe I found the adolescent teenager curious.


    ¡°Er, no,¡± I respond, forgot to answer.


    ¡°You were exchanging numbers, though,¡± Lacie states.


    ¡°Just in case he needs to get into contact with me about the case or he sees or hears something.¡±


    ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I be?¡±


    She fidgets in the passenger seat, ¡°Well, your partner took his own life. I just want to make sure you¡¯re okay.¡±


    Ugh. Is this a joke from Eras? Throwing me into the body of a sad expiring meat suit. Get a laugh at the Phantom trapped in a miserable being whom Phantoms would feed on. I am trapped in the body of food. Fuck that Celestial.


    Right.


    How do I react to this situation properly?


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    ¡°Did I witness her blowing her brains out? No, I am fine,¡±


    Lacie clicks her tongue.


    ¡°Okay,¡± she plays with the windows, rolling them down, and then rolling them back up with a flick of a button. She huffs, blowing her long bangs out of her eyes briefly, ¡°Maybe after we deliver this report to Florian, we should take a break? Florian will understand. You got ran over and you¡¯re being a bit - more grumpy than usual.¡± Her Aura blast me in the face with radiant light, as she perks up, ¡°We can watch your fishing shows! You love those!¡± she brightly suggests.


    Fishing. I know nothing about fishing.


    Getting a better hang of driving, though.


    She hasn¡¯t complained about it yet.


    She smiles; I can feel her smiling, ¡°I am really glad you¡¯re alive.¡± she adds. Celestial fuck! If only she knew what the Celestials had done to her Father. I want to rub it in her face. Sour her Aura and watch her break, telling her the truth about what happened to her oh so precious Dad. She sickens me. And I don¡¯t know how long I can continue to play along. I should have grabbed that fucking Pen from that boy. And smothered the life out of that arrogant, young Mortal.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± I respond.


    Lacie giggles.


    ¡°If it makes you feel any better, I¡¯ll watch some fishing with you,¡±


    ¡°You should,¡± trying to sound like her father right now.


    Kill her.


    Get this done and over with.


    You know who the Artifact Wielder is.


    Kill her.


    Then kill him.


    ¡°Should take a break yourself, relax, don¡¯t need to cater to me,¡± I tell her.


    What in the Celestials am I doing?


    She leans over. Placing a hand on my shoulder, ¡°Thank you for being concerned about my well being. I know what Mom thinks of you sometimes, but I have always known you just to be rough around the edges with the way you express yourself.¡±


    ¡°Right, rough around the edges,¡±


    All I can imagine is her crying. Or I wish I could see her crying. I want to make her cry. I want to turn her radiant Aura into a storm. I want darkness to surround her and her heart to be corrupted. So, why am I sitting in this car, driving her around to the police department? Why am I committing to this role that I despise and hate?


    No.


    Even as a Phantom, I am not being honest with myself.


    I have been wandering the Realms for Eras. Latched onto the figures of important politicians, mostly Traditionalist, for years. And despite my complaints. Despite my annoyance. Seeing how I can manipulate this situation, seeing how I can use these Mortals as puppets - it¡¯s exciting. It¡¯s the most excitement I felt in years.

 Magi 11 - Anderson County Penitentiary

    Anderson County Penitentiary;


    This place reminds me of a well-guarded apartment complex. The outside of the building is surrounding by gates and isolated fields decorated with scattered solar panels. The solar panels supply this building with electricity for all the rooms. While its interior has shiny tile linoleum floor, white hot bright ceiling lights reflect off the tile flooring and inmates are housed behind heavy metal doors. If the outside of the building with its gates are the literal walls keeping people in, the layout of the interior is labyrinth like. Confusing to traverse unless you have extensive knowledge to navigate it.


    The three story building is starfish like in its design and while the penitentiary is to look as homely as possible. Metal bars surround the railing, looking down into a common area, stopping anyone from jumping down below. Giving the impression of a birdcage surrounding the reformatory blocks.


    ¡°Before Anderson County Penitentiary remodeled,¡± Bryan states as if he is leading a public tour. Gesturing to yet another metal door leading down a hall with a glass walkway, ¡°There were legislation passed to make prisons more accommodating. Excuse me, in the Celestial Crest they would call them Reformatories. Here we call them prisons. Unfortunately, the Civilian Law binds us to an Oath. So the inmates get private rooms the size of studios, and they expect them to have privacy, thus the doors. They even have two extensive libraries here. These people are treated better than they deserve, honestly. The Western Wing is the woman¡¯s ward and the Northern Wing is the men¡¯s ward. We also have a juvenile center here as well.¡±


    ¡°I am not here for a tour,¡± I tell him.


    The metal door unlocks, swinging open with the swipe of his lament ID. Is he stalling? Why is he talking this much and giving us so much of the runaround?


    ¡°Oh, but I was enjoying the tour,¡± Wolf remarks.


    All the walkways here are made of glass. It¡¯s intentional by design. To see across each hall into the next.


    ¡°As you can see, no one goes unnoticed,¡± he says, waving to a guard on the other side.


    ¡°I am only here to investigate Zoey¡¯s cell,¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ve said,¡± Bryan says.


    Wolf slightly frowns.


    As far as I can tell, we¡¯ve taken a big detour. If each tentacle of this starfish is connected to central points; Then why did we go through the Juvenile Center, to the Men¡¯s Ward, to the Woman¡¯s Ward? I might not the know entire layout of this building, though none of this feels right. Byran slides his lament card once again to open the next door.


    ¡°This is the Woman¡¯s Ward,¡± Bryan states, ¡°Zoey¡¯s cell is on the other side of this hall. Each hall is a triangular shape, having cells on either side of the triangle.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll need access to that room¡¯s security as well,¡± I say.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Bryan pauses, gesturing toward the railing, ¡°Inmates have ample time outside of their cells.¡± Several women are gathered sitting at tables, reading books or playing a game of cards.


    ¡°Why are you stalling?¡± I finally ask.


    Bryan furrows his brows.


    ¡°We rarely get Order of the Exalted Agents in the Pearl Isle,¡± Bryan responds, ¡°I hoped you could put in a good word about the penitentiary. The Sect of Cosmos, even the Anti-Ora have criticized our work here. Even you folk from the Celestial Crest. But crime needs deliberate punishment and I don¡¯t see results from the Reformatories. If the Reformatories worked, we wouldn¡¯t see crime at all.¡±


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    Bryan attempts to give me a charming smile. He wants me to like him. I try my best to hear points from all sides of the aisle, though I have mixed feelings about the Sect of Cosmos and Anti-Ora. Mainly because - either way, this is the major argument for those against the Reformatories. It is the fallacy I think of our limited scope as people with limited knowledge.


    ¡°That would be ideal, wouldn''t it,¡± I state, ¡°If Reformation worked a hundred percent of the time. However, the way we, the Order and the Civilian Security and Protection Service, see it. Is crime is born from something within the state of the system.¡±


    Bryan scowls, ¡°Fine. You caught me. I am stalling.¡±


    ¡°Dratz, here I was looking forward to seeing the library and the cafeteria,¡± Wolf says lowly under breathe.


    ¡°Please, Bryan, I¡¯d like to be directed to Zoey¡¯s cell,¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± Bryan sounds bitter.


    He guides us without a word down the last hall, snaking around to the other side down some steps to the second floor of the woman¡¯s ward. It¡¯s clear I have a struck a nerve. Bryan seems quieter now. The charm he displayed earlier has faded. It¡¯s clear it had all been superficial. He doesn¡¯t trust me, but I don¡¯t trust him either.


    Stopping. Glancing over to Wolf. Wolf glances at me. She smiles.


    ¡°Excuse us,¡± I state to Bryan, ¡°We need to discuss something privately.¡±


    Bryan raises a brow.


    ¡°You were so eager to get to Zoey¡¯s cell,¡±


    ¡°And you wasted my time, so I can waste some of yours,¡± I say.


    Wolf laughs. Then clears her throat. Bryan glares darkly. ¡°Very well. Make it quick.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll take as long as we need,¡± Wolf responds.


    Nodding my head and doubling back down the hall, out of earshot, and eyesight of Bryan. Wolf smiles at me.


    ¡°What a charming man,¡± she states.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be honest and state that I think I hurt some of his pride. I probably shouldn¡¯t have challenged his viewpoints on the Reformatory centers, but I am not against clearly stating where I stand.¡±


    ¡°I think it was just the right amount of shutdown, honestly,¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, we cannot get into Zoey¡¯s cell without an ID card,¡±


    ¡°And we don¡¯t trust him enough to take us to Zoey¡¯s cell, I take it,¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s correct,¡±


    Wolf tilts her head from side to side, her neck popping loudly. She rolls her broad shoulders forward with a delighted smirk on her face. ¡°I can get that ID card.¡±


    ¡°Legally-


    -Right, I knew that. I was totally kidding,¡±


    Was she? I look at her. She gives me a big grin. ¡°Well, go do that thing you do as an Order member. Seize the mindset of the Herald you were always meant to be. I got your back if things need my expertise.¡±


    Right. I guess that clears up where we stand then. Heading back down the hall, where Bryan waits for us. His foot tapping impatiently, he shoots a look up at us.


    ¡°Director Bryan Ironwood, you are aware of my position. As an Order member, I supersede your authority, while I respect it. I¡¯d like to carry this on my own, and request that I am permitted to use a key-card. Yours preferably, since you¡¯re here and I am here and rather not take up any more of either of our time,¡±


    ¡°You want to use my key-card!¡± Bryan exclaims. ¡°How dare you come in here the way you do, making demands of me?! Are you even an Order member? You look like you just graduated from Expanded Edu-


    -A right hook lands a blow to the side of his face. Bryan doubles back into the wall. Wolf is shaking her hand, ¡°You think his bones are reinforced with asshole-


    -legally Wolf-


    -he raised his voice and got too close. I was in my legal right-


    -Is he-


    -stunned.¡± she takes the ID card off his belt, and waves, ¡°Come on before he gets back up.¡± Which he is already doing so, attempting to say something though it comes out as verbal snarling.


    She hit him. I am not sure it was worth doing, but I am not complaining either. I will have to explain why we hit a Director of notoriety, however I am not sure he raised his voice at me to be a good enough reason. Quickly rushing down the hall in a fast power walking stride, looking for Zoey¡¯s cell - it¡¯s easy to find when there is lingering hazard tape on the door. Wolf slides the ID card to open the door.


    ¡°How excitin-


    -I will end both of your careers!¡± Bryan yells down the hall.


    I am not sure how he can do that. There¡¯s really now only one place to go, inside Zoey¡¯s room.


    ¡°Drop the key-card, outside,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°What, are we intentionally-


    -Wolf,¡±


    ¡°Fine, fine, I¡¯ve always wanted to plan a prison escape,¡±


    She drops the card out into the hallway while we take refuge in Zoey¡¯s room. It is clear to me that there is a shift. The penitentiary itself felt sleepy and dreamlike, as if its intent was to quell the ¡°criminal mind¡± of its inmates. But Zoey¡¯s room. There¡¯s something here.

 Trista 6 - Oakside Police Department

    ¡°Troy,¡± Florian stops in front of Lacie and I.


    He¡¯s currently looping his arm through the left arm sleeve of his coat. He¡¯s accompanied by another man. Taller. More chiseled than the prettier Florian. Dark hair. In a dark coat. Mixed ethnicity of some sort.


    ¡°Florian,¡± I grumble.


    ¡°Could you leave your report on my desk? I have to head out to the Penitentiary,¡± Florian frowns, ¡°Shaun and I have to deal with a situation.¡±


    ¡°A situation?¡± I ask.


    Florian pauses, studying me briefly, ¡°I am going to put my trust in you to keep what I have to say quiet for now. As I am considering your role in a case. But it involves the Order.¡±


    Shaun scoffs, ¡°The Order.¡± he huffs with a roll of his brown eyes, and he scratches his stubbled chin in thought.


    He probably should show the Order of the Exalted more respect than that.


    I am a Phantom, but not an idiot. If the Order of the Exalted is getting involved, the Celestial Artifact will be found. If they hired someone worth their salt. Which means that boy. Er. What¡¯s his name? Stabby Kid will need to work fast. The Order of the Exalted have been pains in asses to Phantoms since the Celestial Age. They banish us back into our own Realms. And close off the Slips we squeeze through. Though the conflict between the Order of the Exalted and Phantoms is not a conflict of good and evil. That¡¯s a false ideology. Mortals like to believe because it gives them a sense of security.


    We, Phantoms, have to exist. Just as much as they, The Order, have to exist. The Order of the Exalted are not the same as these police or even the Civilian Protection. The Order of the Exalted have always worked outside of the structure of the systems put in place. The Order is their own system, their own society, and have taken up their own Oaths.


    ¡°Sure, report on your desk,¡± I realize it¡¯s taken me way too long to respond. Mortals like immediacy.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Florian responds with a polite smile.


    ¡°May I ask what is going on?¡± maybe I can squeeze some information out of him.


    ¡°I am not sure the details myself, and we may have impostors masquerading as the Order,¡±


    I doubt it. If they are causing disruption, it is because they are The Order of the Exalted. Still, this gives me an excuse to look into Florian¡¯s office. Since I am allowed to be there. I need to find some leverage to use against the Mortal.


    I notice a Phantom lurking.


    Not worth my time. Compared to the Phantoms at the apartment. This is just a pipsqueak.


    ¡°Florian,¡± Lacie pipes up, ¡°before you go. I have one last question. See, my Dad got ran over today, so I was wondering if we could take the rest of the day off. He needs to rest and relax, and if something medically-


    -Lacie,¡± Florian looks at her, ¡°you don¡¯t need to be so formal when asking me-


    -oh okay, can we take the rest of the day off?¡±


    ¡°You may,¡± Florian smiles, ¡°Troy, I am sorry that I dragged you out to investigate that apartment after what just happened. You must think I am an awful person, but you¡¯re the only one I trust currently-


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    -Florian, we should head out before Bryan bitches us out,¡± Shaun pauses, ¡°More.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll get this report onto Florian¡¯s desk, and meet you in our office,¡± I tell Lacie.


    ¡°Sure!¡± she smiles happily. Eugh too bright.


    Passing Florian, to head up the staircase. This hallway is relatively small, just one square box.


    So.


    This is pretty boy¡¯s office then. I wonder what I can dig up. If the Order of the Exalted is involved, we¡¯re going to need munition. Shit! Why do I care about that? Shouldn¡¯t I lead them to Stabby Kid? It makes my job a lot easier if I just send the Oakside Police and the Order of the Exalted to the Stabby Kid. Then I don¡¯t have to deal with his pompous youthful folly. I should know better than to help a Mortal child. I could plant some evidence. Eugh. Now I sound like a corrupt officer.


    I am a corrupt officer!


    I guess I should get into his computer.


    All right, what do I know about Mortals and investigating? They hide their important information in their desk. Yes. That¡¯s how I will get into the computer. Pausing. Listening for a second. No one is coming. Whipping around the desk to access the drawers.


    Listening again.


    No one is coming.


    Not a single footstep.


    Good.


    Good.


    Opening the drawer on top. It easily opens. Just pens, paper, and shit. That¡¯s not helpful. Moving down to the middle drawer. Celestials his desk is so neat. If I mess anything up, he¡¯ll know. Opening up the middle drawer, are there any personal affects? Something to lend some insight to use against him? Another useless drawer, just more office supplies, a stapler, paper clips, and mint gum.


    Final drawer. It¡¯s locked. So this is the drawer he doesn¡¯t want people to open.


    Need a key.


    Where would he hide it?


    I have to consider what I know about Mortals and the way they think. Where would they think the key is the safest to hide? Under the desk. I know a politician who would stick their key under the desk on the bottom portion of the top half.


    Listening. No one. Crouching, stupid middling expiring body. Not there feeling around the bottom of the desk. Hmm. So Florian is not the type of person to hide something where it is obvious. Where else? I¡¯ve known another politician to hide their key in a false opening in their drawer.


    Gah. Which means I need to rifle around without him knowing.


    Opening the first drawer.


    Carefully lifting the stack of printer paper, feeling around for a false opening. No. Not there. Let¡¯s try the middle drawer. Moving the supplies around. Nothing.


    Celestials fuck!


    I don¡¯t know enough about Florian to know what type of person he is to know where he would hide his key. Looking around the office. What do I see? A desk. A frame sits on the desk, a picture of a man. There¡¯s a file cabinet in the room''s corner. And a small bookshelf.


    What can I pull from Florian?


    Well, he had to be the one to contact the Order of the Exalted. I doubt Shaun would. Maybe the bookshelf, then? Heading over, looking at books at about Oath Keeping and Law. Mortals don¡¯t understand their own Oaths, do they?


    Ah Hah. This must be it. Grabbing a book decorated with stars and rings on it. Navy blue, it¡¯s a wooden box. Representing the Celestial bodies.


    Opening it. There¡¯s a note: You Found Me


    Who in the fuck?! What in the fuck kind of fucked up shit is this? Does this man lay down his own fucking clues in his own office?


    There¡¯s an arrow pointing for it to be flipped over: I am in the least likely spot


    Least likely spot! I mean, it makes sense if he had the key on him.


    But he actually takes the time to fuck with himself?


    I am kind of liking pretty boy more now.


    Least likely spot. The most likely spots would be the file cabinet. Guess the bookshelf and desk as well. So it has to be. Looking at the blinds, the fucking windowsill. Moving over, carefully pushing the blinds apart, there it is, taped to the side of the frame.


    So, now I know Florian is stupidly weird. Taking the key over to the desk. Using it to open the bottom drawer, it works, and I release the drawer. What is in-


    -Nothing! You mean I wasted my fucking time - wait there is a postcard: Don¡¯t Forget


    Don¡¯t forget what? I was hoping to find a booklet of passwords, something to get into his computer. So I guess I have to brute force my way in. Turning on his computer.


    Login: F.P. Lysander


    Password:


    Maybe this vague note is some clue into the password? What a headache to go through every fucking morning. Who goes to work and says I am going to play a game of riddle me this, every time?


    Maybe it¡¯s: Remember


    Password is incorrect.


    Maybe: I Remember


    Password is incorrect


    I cannot believe I am doing this. Taking out my phone. Texting Stabby Kid.

 Quinton 18 - Downtown - Avenue View Apartments

    Charles went home earlier than expected after Elaine¡¯s passing. The complex seems to be in a frenzy about the news. Everyone is whispering about the event in the hallways. Meanwhile, Mom has been eyeing me, so I have retreated to my room to finish my homework when my phone goes off.


    Let¡¯s have a lookie. If we quickly search up Florian Lysander, I wonder what comes up:


    Florian Lysander Youngest Police Chief Director Appointed


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    Oh, this one is interesting. It¡¯s from the Traditionalist Times:


    Sect of Cosmos Propaganda Oakside¡¯s Trans Chief Director


    He¡¯s not very smart, is he? Is he really even a detective? He just relies on brute strength and menace that might work for most things. But for breaking into a computer and solving riddles. How was this supposed to be the person who wanted to use the Pen themselves? What was he going to do, wave it around intimidatingly?


    He has no goals of his own and he wants to take the Pen from me, that¡¯s laughable. But it¡¯s kind of fun to make him look even stupider, when a seventeen-year-old is smarter than a man in his mid-forties.


    Don¡¯t Forget


    Judging from the articles the Traditionalist write about Florian. The way they slander him and try to tarnish his reputation. It¡¯s a double-blind!

 Magi 12 - Anderson County Penitentiary

    Zoey¡¯s Room;


    Smells potent of antiseptic cleaner. They have scrubbed the blood that soaked the room clean. No one has claimed her items. Instead, they are sitting collected in plastic bags. Looking around the room, trying to get a sense of who this Zoey was an individual.


    The room is small. Studio size. There¡¯s a desk alongside the longest wall. Though it was being used as a counter space, with a microwave sitting on top of it, paper plates, and paper cups. Though no utensils, and various prepackaged meals. Macaroni and cheese, canned chilis, chicken noodle soup, a coffee pot, and insulated paper cups.


    Wolf shifts, looking over at the metal door, ¡°How often are you used to being trapped in a locked room?¡±


    ¡°Only when I am back home,¡± I respond.


    ¡°Is that a hint of a person I hear?¡± she laughs.


    ¡°Sorry, I shouldn¡¯t have said anything,¡±


    ¡°Beep Boop Bop, and here I was starting to believe you were a person,¡±


    Heading over to a small bed placed in the room''s corner. I shouldn¡¯t have said something, inspecting the bed. The bloody, purple sheets sit in a plastic bag folded. There¡¯s also a notebook sitting on top of the pillow, wrapped in plastic.


    Picking it up. Did they scrub this for prints already? Looking around, finding a stack of napkins on the makeshift counter, attempting to balance the notebook in my right hand, while taking the napkin in my left to grip the spiral top. The cardboard top is splattered in oxidized blood. Slipping it carefully out of the plastic, trying not to lose my grip.


    It takes a bit of fiddling to flip the top to the first page;


    She¡¯s worried about the perception of others. She¡¯s worried about how her actions define her and she feels abandoned by the people she has put time and effort into. That¡¯s emphasized, with none of her artifacts currently being taken. Flipping the page over to the next.


    The Anti-Ora was founded to address the issues the people had with the Sect of Cosmos. Though I would argue that the Anti-Ora feels more faith based than the Sect of Cosmos. Though that is my personal feelings, I shouldn¡¯t allow that to get into the way of my assessment of Zoey¡¯s room.


    ¡°I should have brought something to read,¡± Wolf laughs.


    ¡°She joined the Anti-Ora because she was growing weary of the Sect of Cosmos,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°The Anti-Ora,¡± Wolf rolls her eyes.


    ¡°You don¡¯t approve?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°Is that a statement of curiosity from you about me?¡± she winks.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to answer-


    -but when will I ever get an opportunity to talk about me before your human programming short circuits again?¡±


    ¡°Am I that bad?¡± I finally ask her.


    Am I coming off too cold? She takes a second, then I see her do a mental backtrack.


    ¡°Oh no. I was just teasing and being playful. You¡¯re actually quite pleasant to deal with compared to some people I have Warded in the past. I could tell you some really horrifying stories about Misong. Not being locked in a room where a woman took her own life horrifying, but close enough.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    She tilts her head, ¡°You don¡¯t have to apologize to me about anything,¡±


    ¡°I just don¡¯t know how to gauge, whether-


    -I just punched a man in the face. I will tell you exactly what I think without hesitation,¡± she nods with reassurance.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t punch me,¡±


    ¡°Only if you legally deserve it,¡± she smirks.


    Waving the notebook, ¡°Curious?¡±


    Wolf looks to the door, ¡°Are we going to be going soon?¡±


    Wolf laughs.


    ¡°It¡¯s kind of like when the actual abuser claims the victim is abusing them. Just label her what they fear,¡± Wolf remarks.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a grand opinion about the Anti-Ora,¡±


    ¡°When have you walked into a Cathedral of the Sect and they immediately attempt to shove your asshole with cosmic space bullshit?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a grand opinion about the Sect of Cosmos either,¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the grandest opinion I can give them. People say that they mix belief and policy, but I never seen it. The Oaths never felt like faith the way the Anti-Ora or the Traditionalist claim. Oh boy, I took an Oath to protect the pretty blond boy. The Sect of Cosmos states the Oaths are promises, and while I don¡¯t think they are magical the way they claim, there is strength in words,¡±


    That¡¯s correct. We teach the Oaths we take and recite as promises we keep. You are only as valuable as your word. Most laws are really Oaths, we promise to maintain. The Civilian Service and Protection Department take Oaths to serve the Civilians. The Oakside Police is strange, it¡¯s not common practice throughout the world to have a Police force. Well, not one without Oaths.


    Wolf tilts her head, ¡°What about you? The Order of the Exalted and the Sect of Cosmos are tied. You¡¯re appointed by the Oracles as Agents.¡±


    I prefer not to answer, because my answer is complicated. As a child, I spent a significant time in the Cathedral of Lenses in Orhythe End. I don¡¯t know how to feel about - now isn¡¯t the time to think about that. Right now I should focus on what I have gained here. Zoey is not someone I am picturing taking her own life. Her notes are not coming from a place of hopelessness. She was angry. She was seeking justice for herself. Why did she take her own life? Nothing about this feels right. She didn¡¯t kill herself out of hopelessness. And these are likely not accidents. I don¡¯t think the person killing these people truly understands the people they are killing. What kind of message is Karma trying to send? If they believe these people need punishment, then what were they punishing Zoey for?


    Wolf is watching me. Oh, I haven¡¯t answered.


    ¡°I have no feelings about the Sect of Cosmos or the Anti-Ora,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°Oh darn, your human programming has broken,¡±


    The door slides open as if it has a will of its own. Bryan glares at us. Wolf raises a brow with a smirk.


    ¡°How¡¯s the face?¡± she asks, pointing to her left cheek.


    ¡°At least you¡¯re admitting to it,¡± a young man entering behind Bryan states with a smile. The platinum blond removes his glasses briefly to wipe a smudge away, ¡°Florian Lysander, Chief Director of Oakside Police. This is Shaun Ortega, Secondary Director of Oakside Police. Bryan Ironwood immediately contacted me. He claims you are impersonating Order members and assaulted him. Do you mind having a chat with me?¡±


    ¡°I legally assaulted Bryan in my defense,¡± Wolf states.


    Florian studies her, ¡°Not sure I¡¯d put the term legal and assault in the same sentence.¡±


    ¡°But I do, weird,¡± Wolf responds.


    Shaun looks at her with annoyance, ¡°You''re the type who likes to talk, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I just love the sound of my voice,¡±


    ¡°Moving on before she spins circles around the both of you, I am not impersonating an Order member, I assure you, it¡¯s a pleasure to meet you, Florian Lysander. We have spoken through email. I wanted to remove as much noise pollution as I could upon arriving in Oakside. I deeply apologize if we have caused any form of interruption,¡± I am trying to keep everyone calm.


    ¡°I am not sorry,¡± Wolf declares.


    ¡°Your Magi?¡± Florian ask, ¡°Honestly with all the mystery surrounding you. I was expecting someone in a mask.¡±


    ¡°Oh, now there¡¯s an idea. We should get you a suit,¡± Wolf tells me.


    ¡°I know my appearance surprises many,¡± I state. Oh, uh I have the notebook still in my hand. Placing it down onto the makeshift counter space. Attempting to fight with my pockets to wrestle my shield out.


    Florian watches, and then stares at the shield, ¡°How hard is it to a forge a Shield?¡±


    Who are they asking? Bryan or me?


    ¡°Look at him,¡± Bryan begins, ¡°He cannot even get out his own Shield out properly. I am sure it¡¯s relative-


    -actually, unlike lamented ID cards, Shields are forged by appointed Smiths who work closely with the Oracles who maintain the traditional way they craft a shield. It¡¯s incredibly hard to find a forgery of a Shield. If you have to question, its authenticity is likely real, not that I am putting it against someone trying to craft an authentic enough forgery. You can tell the difference between a forgery and a real Shield, simply by the way the metal looks. If there are dents or looks dull in color, then it¡¯s fake,¡± I state cutting Bryan off. Wolf smiles.


    Florian claps his hands, ¡°Well, I am convinced he¡¯s the real deal.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s ridiculous,¡± Bryan hisses, ¡°That convinces you?¡±


    ¡°Did you know that?¡± Florian asks Bryan, ¡°Any of it? I didn¡¯t.¡±


    Bryan sneers at me, ¡°I am going to bury the both of your careers.¡±


    ¡°You can try,¡± I wasn¡¯t supposed to say that out loud. Wolf snorts. Florian raises his brows and curls his lips in trying not to laugh. Shaun shakes his head with a smirk.


    ¡°I can direct you two to the Oakside Police Department so we can chat about the current case,¡± Florian steers the conversation elsewhere.


    ¡°Oh good, I have to pee,¡± Wolf says with a smile.

 Trista 7 - Oakside Police Department

    What the fuck am I looking at?


    How am I supposed to sift through this?


    Clicking on a 2018 Folder. Celestial fuck. It¡¯s another folder with 2018 on it. Clicking on it again. Who the fuck has this much time?! It¡¯s another folder with 2018?! How far does this go? Furiously clicking, I stop at 30. Does he seriously have this much time?


    How do I figure out what I am looking for? I could go through the emails. At least for right now, before I get caught in here. Lacie is waiting for me, and Celestials knows she is going to come snooping around if I take any longer.


    Seems he has been in contact with this Order Agent a few times. Magi. Name doesn¡¯t ring any bells. Then again, the last time I dealt with an Order Agent was at the end of the Transitional Age. It would be weird if that Agent was still alive.


    Shutting off the computer.


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    This Magi guy might have the Sight. Which puts me in a precarious situation. This kid will not last long if he tangos with a skillful Sight user and Order member. This is their job. The Order deals with the Realms. While the Civilian Service and Protection deal with the people. The Order of the Exalted were paladins long before their role changed to investigators during the Transitional Age.


    Taking out my phone yet again.


    I think I have met someone more arrogant than me.


    Is this kid seriousl?! I am better off killing him at this point.


    What adolescent mortal thinks like this?


    This kid is nuts. I¡¯d applaud such forward thinking, but this kid isn¡¯t thinking ahead or of the future. And he doesn¡¯t see the Order being a major threat to his plans. He¡¯s too cocky. Too self assured of his own plan, with no humility. And yes, the reason I am currently in this body is because of my hubris. But this kid is going to land himself somewhere else if he doesn¡¯t start showing some semblance of temperance.

 Quinton 20 - Downtown - Avenue View Apartments

    School starts at 9.


    Though if I want to catch the bus and be on time, I had to get up early while making cookies. Yesterday, I met a police officer who claimed himself to be a spiritual entity who also claims detectives with magical powers are coming after me. I admit denying the fact that there may be spiritual entities and magic detectives is silly considering the Pen has some kind of magic. And I think it is weird that he knew about the Pen. So he has that going for him for his credibility. But I don¡¯t know if I should trust him entirely. Our neighbor¡¯s apartment, for the first time in years, has been silent. Elaine cannot be heard whimpering or pleading. Lukas cannot be heard beating her or throwing around furniture. I would say the apartment complex is at peace, but no one seems at peace. I wanted to apologize to Charles for yesterday, at least.


    ¡°What are you doing up so early?¡± Mom asks, her brown hair is currently dripping at the tips while she uses a towel to dry it off, attempting to save her blazer jacket from her wet hair.


    Pointing to the Tupperware of cookies, ¡°Making Charles some apology cookies before I have to catch the bus.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s thoughtful,¡± Mom smiles.


    Turning to face her, ¡°Can I ask a question?¡±


    ¡°You can ask me anything,¡±


    ¡°What do you think about Elaine¡¯s death?¡± I ask her.


    Mom studies me briefly. Is she looking for something?


    ¡°It must have been scary to deal with what happened yesterday,¡±


    I shake my head no. I am not scared. What happened to Elaine didn¡¯t bother me. I feel more frustrated that she did so. With Mom I am always more able to open up though about how I think.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t scared. I am confused. Why she killed herself. Her husband was a terrible person who didn¡¯t treat her kindly. He threw her around, yelled at her, belittled her. Whomever she once loved was already gone, and she was clinging onto a past that couldn¡¯t be. Shouldn¡¯t she have felt free? Why did she blame herself for an accident?¡±


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    ¡°Quentin,¡± Mom softens her voice even more. She touches Father¡¯s urn while looking around for socks. ¡°Some people in life just don¡¯t have the strength to cut out their cancer. They cling onto hopeful optimism that makes things better, but they are still being drained by poison. Some people won¡¯t know how to save themselves once freed.¡±


    ¡°Can those types of people be saved? Or freed?¡±


    ¡°Of course they can be,¡± Mom tells me.


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°By being brave,¡± Mom sits down to put on her socks, ¡°Why are you asking me these questions?¡±


    ¡°Just curious,¡±


    She surveys me while standing up with both socks on. Unraveling her hair from the towel, she wrapped it in earlier.


    ¡°I was just curious,¡± now I watch her, wondering what she will say, ¡°Also, I am mad at Elaine for not being brave enough to be free.¡±


    Mom fixes her long brown hair behind her ears, ¡°Oh sweetheart, she couldn¡¯t live brave enough to feel safe. Whatever was happening between Lukas and Elaine had gone off long enough that she believed that was the only way to be loved. Someone like that cannot feel safe when presented with safety.¡±


    She takes a second another moment to study me, trying to peel my layers back. She¡¯s looking for something, but I don¡¯t know what that is.


    ¡°Will you be all right at school?¡± she finally ask.


    ¡°No. It¡¯s fine. I made Charles cookies. To apologize for what happened yesterday.¡± I stare at the container for a brief second. This is what people do for each other. That¡¯s what I have been told at least. I¡¯ve never had a friend before or even a prospective friend before. Most of my classmates avoid me. Not even the bullies will approach me, genuinely.


    She nods while searching for her keys, ¡°Do you want me to take you to the bus station?¡±


    ¡°I am good,¡±


    Mom continues her intense study of me.


    ¡°Quentin,¡± she says my name firmly, ¡°You¡¯re 17 going on 18 this year. You¡¯re very close to graduating. This school is our last hope. We¡¯ve exhausted all of our resources downtown. Please continue to be on your best behavior.¡±


    What is that supposed to mean? I have done nothing she knows of. Now I am trying to peel her layers back. What does she know?


    ¡°I know, I put a lot of effort into behaving,¡± I tell her.


    She is giving me that look again, the one where she is trying to read my thoughts. I won¡¯t let her, I know this game.


    ¡°It¡¯s all I can ask Quentin,¡± Mom smiles again as if to signal some peace between us, ¡°I am not trying to upset you, and I don¡¯t think you¡¯ve done anything wrong. It¡¯s why I defend you so wholeheartedly, but other people get uncomfortable.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why they do. I have their best interests in mind,¡± I confide in her more openly.


    ¡°I know,¡± she steps into the kitchen, smiling at the dishes I cleaned after making cookies. She brushes my hair out of my eyes and strokes my cheek, ¡°Some people cannot see the beauty of your mind. But I do. And maybe in time they will see that you care about them.¡±


    I wish I could disclose with her the things I have done as Karma. Though I don¡¯t know how she would react or what she would say. Would she approve? Would she help?

 Trista 8 - Midtown - Midtown Park Apartments

    ¡°We¡¯re going to be late!¡± Lacie shouts from the hallway.


    I am genuinely the one to cause nightmares in others. An embodiment of the things they fear. Of themselves, or fear of what they have done. Yet, I am trapped in one. In the nightmare of a sagging, expiring meat suit. Wiping away shower fog, only to frown at the image in the mirror.


    Lacie knocks on the bathroom door.


    ¡°Why the rush?¡± I bark.


    ¡°We¡¯re part of that special team Florian was talking about last night,¡± Lacie states cheerfully behind the door. I admit I find her amusing only in the sense that she appears excited, despite the morbidity of the situation. ¡°I¡¯ve never worked with an Agent of the Order of the Exalted.¡±


    ¡°I just got out of the shower,¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not moping, are you?¡±


    ¡°I am not moping!¡±


    Perhaps maybe Troy would. Last night I did digging. I knew how to be more believable in this Mortal Veil. All I could dig into Troy was a sad man. Had lost himself in his work. The man doesn¡¯t have much of a personality besides beige furniture, white walls, a dying plant in the corner, living with his daughter sharing rent, and white polo shirts. A weakling Phantom would feed off of a man like this. The powerful Phantoms didn''t care about easy prey. I am in the body of beige colored food.


    ¡°Dad,¡± Lacie begins. I can hear her nails tapping on the bathroom door, ¡°maybe,¡± she pauses, ¡°you should think about dating again? Mom remarried.¡±


    That¡¯s right. Troy¡¯s ex wife. She remarried early on after their divorce and had a second child, Gavin. Meanwhile, Troy sunk himself into work and a lack of a personality. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if some string bean Phantom was evacuated from Troy¡¯s life the moment he passed on.


    ¡°No one is going to want to date a man in beige,¡± I grumble.


    Lacie laughs, ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± I open the bathroom door finally. Her Aura blast me with more radiance than the cold that rushes into the room steamy from a hot shower.


    She gasps. Ow! Her Aura. A radiant halo of colors, beaming as bright as looking directly in the sun, smacks me in the face. She has an idea and I am going to hate it.


    ¡°What about a dating profile?¡± she asks.


    A what now?


    ¡°What¡¯s a dating profile?¡± I ask her, while searching around for the keys.


    ¡°Dad, you¡¯re not that old,¡± she responds.


    ¡°Pretend I am then,¡±


    ¡°You take a picture, and setup a profile, and people with similar interest message you,¡±


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    ¡°Is this necessary?¡± I ask her, finding the keys haphazardly thrown on the dining table.


    She huffs, her Aura flickers briefly. Ah, so she has been attempting to reach her Father for a while now.


    ¡°I want you to be happy too,¡± Lacie remarks, ¡°Mom didn¡¯t seem too concerned with the fact that you nearly died. She has a husband and you¡¯ve just.¡± she frowns, looking around the apartment, ¡°Have been existing.¡±


    So, even she can see her precious dad lived in a sad beige world. How would Troy respond in this given circumstance? I don¡¯t know him well enough to play along. My instinct says to use this against her and tear her apart. Slowly darkening her Aura. As a Phantom, I know how to do so. But there is a small portion of me, a small portion that makes me Mortal like her, that is holding me back.


    Fuck.


    I still also have to find his contact book. I wonder if Troy would know any journalist willing to leak information about the case.


    ¡°Why can¡¯t I just grab my contact book? Isn¡¯t that the same thing?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°Daad, contact books are outdated,¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you say I wasn¡¯t that old?¡±


    ¡°You will be if you use a contact book,¡±


    ¡°Want to make a bet?¡±


    Shoes are near the front door. Is there anything else we need to take care of before leaving? Lacie watches me, ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll make a bet with you. I bet you won¡¯t look as cool and as hip with the times if you use a contact book. A contact book is only the people You Know. The Internet connects you with a ton of other people outside of those that You Know.¡±


    ¡°Buuut if I go out and meet more people. Then I add to the people I know, like the internet,¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not how that works at all,¡± she tells me, while meandering into the kitchen.


    ¡°Do we have time to eat?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°If we¡¯re late, it¡¯s going to be because someone took a shower to mope-


    -for the last time I wasn¡¯t moping-


    -then what were you doing-


    -brooding, there is a distinction between the two,¡±


    She giggles.


    ¡°What were you brooding about?¡± she asks me.


    Now is the perfect time to drop the truth on her. Your dad died yesterday, and I have taken over his body. I am not your precious dad. I am an impostor. But that¡¯s exactly what I am brooding over. Being an impostor. Not being young enough. Influential enough. How I feel the Celestials have underestimated to play this cruel joke on me. How I have become to live a nightmare.


    ¡°Beige,¡±


    She laughs, ¡°What does beige mean this morning?¡± she¡¯s been rummaging around in a cabinet.


    ¡°It means look at this apartment. We have an armchair, and a TV, with a dying plant. We can paint the walls, but we have not, and I am in an expiring meat prison, and all I own is a white polo shirt and my uniform,¡±


    ¡°You know,¡± she waves a book in her hand, ¡°You can always buy stuff to replace, what you don¡¯t like?¡±


    Actually, the thought didn¡¯t occur to me. In fact, I was worried it would give me away.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want you to think I changed,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°Everybody changes, and if they don¡¯t change, well,¡± Lacie smiles waltzing back around the dining table, and heading over to me. Still standing at the front door, ¡°then they are very beige, right.¡±


    Er. I hate these types. Protectors. People who hold on to an inkling of positivity.


    She¡¯s been holding out for this man. When she really shouldn¡¯t.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°Your contact book. You shoved it in the cabinet one day and didn¡¯t bother to retrieve it.¡±


    Ah. Accepting the book.


    ¡°Should we get going?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°Dad,¡±


    I will never get used to that. Am I?


    ¡°Mm, what?¡±


    ¡°Proud of you,¡±


    Eugh. Gross.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, let¡¯s get going,¡±

 Magi 13 - Undisclosed Hotel Oakside

    Is this everything? There is still a slew of security footage that I have to sift through. Karma, huh? Do you believe yourself to be Karma? Do you believe you are giving some sort of Karmic justice to people? You don¡¯t even know these people, do you? Then do you know what you are doing? Do you actually understand the consequences of your actions? Do you understand your actions and their ramifications? What are your motives? Goals? What is your purpose? They are using relatively public information, so there is some level of research being done. But how extensive? There hasn¡¯t been a death since Zoe. What are you waiting for?


    This is looking like the time you find a 1,000 piece puzzle and think it¡¯s a straightforward solution. Then you realize you only have the corner pieces laid out, but not the center. What am I missing then-


    -Chills. I seize. Someone¡¯s hand is on my shoulder. I reach for their hand.


    ¡°Be careful. This might look kinky,¡± Wolf remarks.


    ¡°I - sorry - was lost in thought,¡± I¡¯ve completely fumbled every single word.


    ¡°Mhm, I see thought, lost in thought, or lost in your own head?¡± she ask handing coffee, ¡°I unfortunately cannot punch the bad dreams away.¡±


    ¡°I am aware,¡± I respond, accepting the coffee, ¡°I did, in fact, sleep.¡±


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    ¡°I believe you,¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t,¡±


    ¡°Not at all. What do you nap, staring at your tablet with longing eyes?¡±


    ¡°Yes, in fact I did,¡±


    She smirks, ¡°Oo. The plot thickens. Secret love affair. Is it the data that gets you hot and bothered or putting the puzzle pieces together?¡±


    Am I going red?


    ¡°I,¡± pausing, ¡°This. We¡¯re. Let¡¯s keep this professional. You¡¯re um. This is forward.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of words, for a lot of stuttering ,¡± she smirks while sitting on the couch in front of me, ¡°Is this the briefing for the Oakside Police Department then, the one you promised our dear friend Florian Lysander you¡¯d have by the morning?¡±


    ¡°Why say it like that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m being professional now,¡±


    ¡°After you,¡± do I say it or put it aside, ¡°Yes, it is the information that I promised Lysander this morning. Doing a more thorough overview of the case with the team he has assembled. I wish I had gathered more pieces before working in a team, though I suppose I cannot change that now. After you punched out the Director.¡±


    ¡°He was a vulgar man, and I was very much in my legal right,¡±


    ¡°I was trying to gather data,¡±


    ¡°And I was doing very much my job, yep me, Wolf the Professional,¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean,¡± I¡¯ve done it again, haven¡¯t I?


    ¡°In all seriousness,¡± she drops the smile, and the glint in her eyes fades to seriousness. Not her usual cheekiness, ¡°Did you actually get any sleep last night?¡±


    I did. Some, I mean she wouldn¡¯t approve of the amount of sleep I actually got. There are questions that haven¡¯t been answered, and obviously I would never get them in a day of investigation. There are simply things that are bothering me about this case. And then there is the matter of her and I-maybe now isn¡¯t the time to mix that in while working on a case. We should unpack that afterwards, I think.


    Then again, it isn¡¯t this case. I haven¡¯t had an undisturbed sleep since-


    ¡°Yes,¡± I respond.


    She seems skeptical, ¡°You¡¯re going to make me kill over.¡±


    ¡°No one said you had to sleep only for two hours,¡±


    Attempting to juggling the coffee cup and the tablet in both hands, not my smartest decision. The tablet misses the edge of the coffee table, landing with an exhausted smack. Wolf stares at me, ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°I need better hands,¡± I laugh.


    ¡°Do you need a handy-woman for now?¡± she asks, getting off the couch, leaning over to pick the tablet over.


    ¡°Is the screen good?¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that be a weird intervention from the universe if it did? Just before a big briefing with the Oakside Police,¡± she flips it over, ¡°Looks good. All clear.¡±


    ¡°We should probably inform security we¡¯re leaving the hotel,¡±


    She nods with a small smile, ¡°Just promise you¡¯ll take a nap at some point?¡±


    ¡°Promise,¡±

 Intermission: Oakside Police Station Map

    Buildings in the Celestial Earth are often borrowed from one another. When a building is considered too small or a place of service needs to expand, they often exchange buildings with other nearby buildings also looking to expand. The Oakside Police Station of today was the old Sanctuary of the Sect of Cosmos of yesteryear. The Sanctuaries were where Oracles Held Counsel to the Public reciting them the word of the Celestials. Though the Sect never garnered a foothold into Oakside for long, the Sanctuary of old faded into obscurity and few Sanctuaries were built or established in it''s wake.


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 Quinn 21 - Ashwood Highschool Uppertown

    Truth is, I don''t really think anyone thinks I belong at this school. It takes thirty minutes from my home in downtown to get here to school in upper-town. It¡¯s the rich part of the neighborhood. With high rent. And expensive looking buildings. It¡¯s so much easier to navigate from bus here too, then it is from where we live. I heard a rumor that our school used to be the hospital that¡¯s not across the street. They say the classrooms on the third floor are where the morgue used to be.


    People like Dominic and James don¡¯t bother me. Most kids at school avoid me. So it¡¯s genuinely surprising to see Dominic waiting at the school gates.


    ¡°Are those for me?¡± he asks, gesturing to the container.


    ¡°I made them this morning,¡± I respond sweetly and ¡°unaware¡± of his attempts to bother me.


    ¡°Well hand them over,¡± Dominic smirks.


    I don¡¯t understand why he thinks this is the way to upset someone.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I edge the container over to him.


    Dominic readily accepts the container, with a smirk on his face. So he is attempting to annoy me. Truth is that I know how to get under his skin better than he does mine. He opens the container with another wide grin on his face, taking out a chocolate chip cookie.


    He cackles, taking a bite, ¡°Oh wow. These are good. Nice and sweet too.¡±


    ¡°I made them just for you,¡± I tell him sweetly, ¡°Did you know chloroform is forty times sweeter than sugar? Within an hour of consumption, you die.¡±


    He quickly spits it out onto the ground, ¡°You poisoned me!¡±


    ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll find out in an hour,¡± I respond.


    He thrust the container back into my arms, ¡°Just fucking stay away from me!¡±


    I don¡¯t know why he even attempted. Most of the school bullies gave up doing so a long time ago. Maybe in the past I would have been someone like Charles. Someone not so brave, I mean, I had to be. Or maybe I wasn¡¯t. I¡¯ve been to every school in Oakside. The ones in downtown didn¡¯t approve of my actions, apparently you¡¯re not supposed to threaten other students with bodily harm.


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    ¡°You didn¡¯t really poison the cookies?¡± that voice.


    Turning around, looking over at Charles.


    ¡°No, but he doesn¡¯t need to know that,¡± I shake the container, ¡°They were meant for you.¡±


    Charles frowns.


    ¡°Thank you, I guess,¡± Charles responds, ¡°Are you um okay after yesterday?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I pause, ¡°What about you?¡± that¡¯s how you¡¯re supposed to respond after someone asks you that question.


    ¡°I¡¯m not doing great,¡± Charles states, ¡°You know you come off scary.¡±


    Does he mean what happened between Dominic and I?


    ¡°I just wanted to scare him off,¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I was talking about,¡± he fidgets with his zipper, ¡°After Elaine¡¯s death. You seemed. Off.¡±


    Oh. That.


    ¡°I am just not very good in those situations,¡± I tell him.


    ¡°Let me be more clear, Quinn,¡± Charles says, ¡°You were Empty. Like it didn¡¯t phase you.¡±


    ¡°Things like that don¡¯t bother me,¡± I reassure him, or I believe it¡¯s reassurance, ¡°Like you I got bullied a lot at a young age and I learned how to turn everything off to where I don¡¯t feel things like that anymore.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s kind of sad,¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t bother me, I learned how to utilize to its full advantage,¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not really normal, there are school counselors,¡± he pauses, reaching out for my hand. He stops halfway, ¡°I really want to be your friend. But I am terrified to be.¡±


    He¡¯s being really ungrateful right now. I thought of him; I did something a friend would do, and he isn¡¯t accepting them.


    ¡°Those cookies were from a genuine place,¡± I tell him.


    ¡°And I appreciate that,¡± Charles attempts a smile, ¡°But I am concerned for you.¡±


    Concerned for what? Right now, I don''t understand him. I did what people are supposed to do when a friend would be sad. I haven¡¯t done anything concerning.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. And I have done nothing concerning,¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s equally concerning,¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± I am allowing myself to let down my guard right now. Showing him honesty, I reserve for only my Mom.


    He seems surprised.


    ¡°Quinn, the way you deal with things is really unhealthy and honestly really scary,¡± Charles pauses, ¡°You just told another student you poisoned these cookies.¡±


    Oh. He¡¯s really upset by that?


    ¡°Next time, I won¡¯t do that then,¡±


    ¡°Quinn-


    -you¡¯re my first potential friend, I am trying to do everything right,¡±


    Charles sighs.


    ¡°Okay, I noticed that, and you seem genuine right now,¡± he pauses, ¡°We can sit together in class and eat lunch together.¡±


    ¡°And I won¡¯t tell Dominic I poison him, or threaten them in any way that makes you uncomfortable,¡±


    ¡°Will you also try to go to the student counselors?¡±


    I don¡¯t really want to. But if it¡¯s what will make Charles happy, ¡°Sure."

 Trista 9 - Oakside Police Department

    ¡°You two ready?¡± Florian asks.


    He¡¯s standing at the doorframe in our office.


    Wonder if the bastard has noticed if anyone has gotten into his computer yet.


    ¡°The Karma Task Force, right?¡± Lacie asks, ¡°Is the Agent here? What are they like? Handsome? Tall? Older? A handsome, older, person is always welcomed in my books.¡±


    Is that a jab at me?


    Florian smiles weakly at Lacie.


    ¡°Perhaps we can tone down the enthusiasm, we¡¯ll have them run off before they help,¡± Florian laughs.


    ¡°Run off?¡± Lacie asks, ¡°From my infectious positivity.¡±


    More like nauseating. Well, time to get this shit show on the road. Huh. Let¡¯s see what type of Order of Exalted agent they have hired. Florian smiles at Lacie, shaking his head with an amused twinkle in his eyes. He doesn¡¯t gesture for us to follow him, it¡¯s only implied as he leads us up the stairs and towards the conference room.


    This is-


    -fucking worse than I thought.


    First, there¡¯s two of them. A Mortal woman stands on guard at the side of the flashiest fucking young man to exist. She¡¯s tall, board shoulders, in a monochromatic suit. Black and white, with a skinny tie. Hair tied up in a loose ponytail, and all of her black bangs swept back and tucked behind her ears.


    She prides herself on her companionship then. Her Aura manifest as interlocking chains, creating wings. Dutiful then, someone who is loyal, honest, and takes pride in their work. Those types are always trouble.


    As for the Golden bastard. What the fuck is this? Ordinarily there is a field surrounding someone, their Aura. He has no open display of his values. Someone inward then? He¡¯s doing a lot of thinking behind his flashy, golden, amber colored irises. His hair is the color of warm honey, and there is an air of familiarity to him. As if one of his ancestors had clashed with me in the past. He¡¯s dressed so flamboyantly, I wouldn¡¯t assume he is an Agent of the Order of the Exalted. Black pants, and a black pullover sweater with an embroidered peacock displayed on the right shoulder sleeve.


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    ¡°These are the two I was speaking about last night,¡± Florian states.


    The golden blonde smiles at the both of us, but it¡¯s one of those smiles that doesn¡¯t reach his eyes. Polite then, formal.


    ¡°Magi,¡± he states flatly.


    ¡°Troy Holland,¡± eugh just saying the Mortal¡¯s name makes me sick.


    ¡°Lacie Holland,¡±


    ¡°How adorable, they are family,¡± the woman teases, ¡°Wolf. And I¡¯ll request that you two keep your distance.¡±


    Lacie is looking up at her with awe, ¡°Yes. I mean yes, ma¡¯am.¡±


    Wolf raises one of her thin eyebrows, ¡°Ma¡¯am, that¡¯s the first time anyone around here has spoken to me with such authority. I think I kind of like it,¡± she laughs.


    ¡°You punched out the penitentiary Director,¡± Florian reminds her.


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t punched out, more like momentarily incapacitated with my fist,¡±


    Ah. So that¡¯s what happened. Lacie giggles, and Wolf flashes a look her way with a smirk. The woman with monolid eyes and onyx colored irises has one of those foxy grins. Her name might be Wolf, but she¡¯s more than just fierce, she¡¯s cunning too.


    Even without her. This Magi guy has been putting the pieces together of everyone in this room, hasn¡¯t he? Making analysis. Working us out.


    On one hand, being part of this investigation could be useful. It gives us an advantage. But without an Aura to read. This Magi guy will be difficult to deal with. I am only as good at cheating; I know how to read people because I know how to read their Auras. As all Phantoms are.


    He notices me watching him. Our eyes lock gaze. He¡¯s reading me. Meanwhile, I am getting a headache looking at him. Something about him.


    ¡°Er, sorry, am just getting used to all the big shot investigators being so young,¡± that should cover any suspicion he has of me right now, ¡°Must be a genius. Haha.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t really like the term genius, it implies a level of superiority that I am not comfortable declaring,¡± Magi tells me dryly.


    He¡¯s going to be real fun at parties. If he goes to any. Considering he looks like some Celestial Age prince who has walked out of some time distortion of the Realms.


    ¡°Well, how else would someone so young be a big time Agent of the Order,¡± I attempt to laugh. Trying to play off incompetence.


    ¡°Luck, maybe,¡± Magi responds, ¡°We¡¯re working in a team, which speaks of everyone¡¯s intelligence in the room. No one can work in a vacuum of ideas, no matter if they are genius or not. Though I do not believe in the concept of geniuses.¡±


    ¡°Right, what are we waiting for, then?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Shaun,¡± Florian responds, ¡°Once he gets here, we will begin.¡±


    ¡°Florian,¡± Magi looks up at Florian, ¡°It is to be said that Wolf and I are never here.¡±


    ¡°Naturally,¡±


    Lacie claps her hands excitedly. Magi looks at her. She covers her face, placing her hands over her mouth, ¡°Sorry. It sounded so official.¡± She mumbles through her palms.


    Wolf smiles at her, ¡°We are very official people.¡±


    ¡°I am here,¡± Shaun grumbles, entering the conference room, ¡°Should we get started?¡±

 Magi 14 - Oakside Police Department

    From my preliminary examination, Florian has been labeled as superstitious, with good hunches. I hear he was a candidate for the Order of the Exalted, as well. He declined the offer and instead spent the time working on community programs in Oakside. I¡¯ve heard that he hasn¡¯t made many friends in Oakside since, and after he took the position of Chief of Department.


    Shaun Ortega has been described as the more grounded of the two. He has no ties to the Sect of the Cosmos or the Humanist Administration. Though he also has no ties with the Traditionalist Administration as well, as far as I have been told, he has no political ties. Nor does he have any ties to the Sect of Cosmos as Florian does.


    Troy Holland is a seasoned officer, he has some credentials under his belt. Sounds like he was vying for Chief of Department at the same time as Florian Lysander. He lost his partner a few years ago. A case of self slaughter.


    Lacie Holland is the daughter of Troy Holland, she¡¯s an up and comer. She¡¯s well liked within the community. She is a contributor to community projects, helping high schools with community activities. Florian says what she lacks in experience, she makes up for good instincts.


    She¡¯s the first to approach me. In fact, she gives Wolf a challenging smirk. Wolf raises a brow and smiles, but lets her approach her closer. She¡¯s built, a woman made of muscles, bulky, and auburn colored hair burning red.


    ¡°Hi!¡± she smiles brightly.


    ¡°Hello,¡± I respond.


    ¡°Do you have a shield thing?¡± Lacie asks me curiously.


    ¡°My Shield, yes, I have one,¡± I look over at Wolf.


    Wolf smirks.


    ¡°Go ahead, show her your Shield,¡± Wolf tells me.


    Wolf looks amused. Lacie continues to smile brightly. Lacie is to close for my liking, or maybe I am paranoid. Wolf doesn¡¯t seem to have an issue with her closeness. I need to relax, sticking my hand in my pocket. I notice Troy watching. Staring at my hands. I wonder what he¡¯s looking for. It¡¯s pretty obvious that he¡¯s fishing for something.


    I take out my Shield, ¡°Here.¡±


    ¡°Wow!¡± Lacie grabs it, ¡°It¡¯s so pretty.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a little old fashion,¡± Troy mentions.


    The older gentleman cracks his knuckles, Troy stretches out his arms. He¡¯s also built, with soft muscles, and board shoulders. His hair is dark brown with streaks of white as well, he¡¯s still watching me.


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    ¡°It¡¯s historical, I admit maybe by today¡¯s standards it is ostentatious,¡± I respond with a smile.


    Shaun clears his throat. He¡¯s the tallest in the group, with dark black hair. Strong jawline. Wolf would likely say something like, typical dark and brooding type.


    ¡°Can we move onto the subject at hand?¡± Shaun asks, ¡°Tell me you have a better idea than some ochus bochus bullshit.¡±


    ¡°I can assure that everything in the world has a rational explanation,¡± I state.


    Although I am not so certain of my answer. Thinking about it gives me some anxiety. Am I going about this the wrong way?


    ¡°Good,¡± Shaun shoots a glance at Florian.


    Florian hands me a disappointed look.


    ¡°What have you determined?¡± Florian asks me, trying to shift the subject.


    ¡°Here,¡± Lacie hands me back my shield, ¡°Thank you for letting me look at it.¡±


    ¡°Not a problem,¡± I state, ¡°I may have something, looking over the details of the case. Looking over what little information I have. There is something that stuck out to me between the scenes. There¡¯s an odd camera distortion in the security footage. I haven¡¯t looked over the camera in Zoe¡¯s room.¡±


    ¡°An odd camera distortion?¡± Florian asks curiously.


    ¡°Right, either from a jammer device or something else that might cause the distortion,¡± I suggest with a nod.


    Troy huffs.


    ¡°Do you have any proof?¡± Troy asks.


    ¡°Is there anyway we can go over Zoe¡¯s room¡¯s camera, here?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Yes, we have a tech department down the hall,¡± Florian responds, ¡°Use whatever resources you need here. This is your office now.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I nod.


    I look over at Wolf.


    ¡°Oh, sorry, was I too serious about the situation?¡± she asks me, raising a brow.


    ¡°We have a restroom down the hall on the left,¡± Florian teases.


    ¡°Oh well, so I won¡¯t be locked in a room to hold it in,¡± Wolf laughs.


    ¡°No, I mean unless you want to be,¡±


    ¡°I rather not die from my bladder poisoning,¡±


    Troy continues giving me an intense expression, ¡°Evidence. Proof.¡±


    ¡°Right, all I have right now to go by is the video from the bar,¡± I state, ¡°However, if we can look over Zoe¡¯s security footage, perhaps we could make a connection. I admit I cannot declare with certainty that this is a connection until we comb through it.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Florian nods.


    Taking out my tablet, ¡°Do we have a projection?¡± I ask.


    Florian nods. While fiddling with a cabinet where the projection is being stored in. He grabs it and sets it on the table, ¡°There should be a USB around here.¡±


    Being handed the USB cable, I plug it in, not without struggle. I admittedly feel like I am being watched by a lot of eyes.


    ¡°Is it working?¡± I ask.


    Florian nods, looking at the screen, displaying my folders.


    I play the security footage.


    Letting it play through. As I had played it originally. The odd distortion seems so much more distinct to me now, what am I missing? Where am I going wrong? After the video is played through once, there¡¯s silence in the room. Though I feel Troy¡¯s eyes on me again. What is that about? Replaying the video, but this time I slow it down closer to the weird distortion. It¡¯s not like a glitch. I am wondering if this is just distortion is something else. It doesn¡¯t feel like a distortion of the camera. Of the - environment itself? That sounds strange to consider. I¡¯ve always relished the concept that I have a rational mind. That I don¡¯t dive into these kinds of superstitious ideas.


    It¡¯s like an opening? Letting something in? A doorway?


    That¡¯s - I cannot allow myself to consider irrational thinking like this. I have to remain level headed. When people claim magic is the cause of something is often because they haven''t looked at all of their avenues.

 Trista 10 - Oakside Police Station

    Fuck.


    That¡¯s no normal camera distortion. Those without Sight will probably not see it. Not as deep as those with.


    The kid is going to lose.


    I know this.


    This is a losing battle. Those without the Sight will not see it. We might have a bit of grace there if I can manipulate this investigation. If I could steer them towards what they would consider a logical explanation, perhaps that kid could get away with his actions. Gah. Why do I care this much? It¡¯s probably the lingering unresolved instincts of who I was in the past. Perhaps the part of me that didn¡¯t accept my death and merged with the Phantom I am today is the reason I am entertaining the idea of helping the kid out.


    ¡°So, what, you think it¡¯s some kind of jammer?¡± I know of Mortal devices enough to steer the conversation where it needs to go, to keep them off the scent. I don¡¯t know if Magi gives me the impression of someone who will budge from his point of view once he has set his mind to something.


    Prick.


    ¡°Potentially,¡± Magi responds.


    He says that. I don¡¯t think he believes it himself. He is already peeling back the pieces. He simply only needs to trust his instincts. I can already see that he does in some context, but not completely. Gah. Trying to look through him this deeply is giving me one massive migraine, I finally have a skull that does that now.


    ¡°What do we know about camera distortions? Could the cameras be faulty?¡± Florian ask.


    I am lucky. Florian has the hunches to feel something is off, but he lacks the Sight. It is true Mortals are born with the Sight, and some are not. But even those born with lose it over time, if they block it out enough.


    The Lenses make it difficult for people to see clearly. They make it hazy. Most Mortals cannot even comprehend the Realms these days or those who slip in out of the few holes there are.


    ¡°What¡¯s the connection?¡± Shaun asks.


    He could be useful. He¡¯s the type of person who likes to be a pain in everyone¡¯s side. So stuck in the mud with his own values that he doesn¡¯t consider other perspectives. Being so stuck in with his ideas will help impede and slow down their investigation.


    ¡°As said, I admit, I cannot say it is a connection until we comb through Zoe¡¯s security video,¡± Magi replies politely.


    Asshole.


    He¡¯s polite. And a pushover. He should tell Shaun, ¡°you asked for my help, I am here because you cannot fucking work it out¡±. Still, that will be helpful. To block Magi.


    ¡°Then why show it then?¡± I ask leaping off the opportunity Shaun gave me, ¡°You have more evidence than that? Because right now I am not impressed. You¡¯re basically doing work we could have already done ourselves.¡±


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    Oh. Shit. Maybe not as much of a pushover as I thought. Still, he smiles at me and nods politely.


    ¡°Fair, this is the most notable thing I could bring to the table,¡± he tells me directly, ¡°I have the rest of the information, which I will gladly go over here in a moment to see how our findings connect. Though I felt this was worth a mention. And if we see the same distortion in Zoe¡¯s security footage, then we have something to latch onto. On how this person may get into places they shouldn¡¯t be able to.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± Florian states, ¡°We¡¯re dealing with someone who is computer savvy, maybe someone who works in the Administration Territory Enforcers?¡±


    ¡°A jammer is pretty easy to get online,¡± Lacie mentions, ¡°If you know where to look. People use the internet for illegal materials all the time. It¡¯s actually how some online markets sell fake designer clothes. That and people can look up online how to make a cheap jammer. Maybe this person isn¡¯t that skilled?¡±


    ¡°You think?¡± Magi looks at her.


    ¡°I mean, what¡¯s the profile that we have of,¡± she hastily looks over at a piece of paper, ¡°Karma?¡±


    Magi studies her. Then looks over at his tablet, ¡°You have a point. They have been up to now using only public information you can find online. Perhaps we¡¯re looking for a college student or a young adult?¡±


    ¡°So, we¡¯re just going off hunches now?¡± I ask.


    Florian snaps a look my way, ¡°Troy you¡¯re going too hard on him.¡±


    ¡°Not quite hunches,¡± Magi tells me, looking over his tablet, ¡°I have complied a list of details so far. Based on what we have, so far.¡±


    A projection of Karma shows up on the screen. Crap. This is bad. Then again, what did I expect from a teenager?


    Uggh. If Zoe is not the person who Quinn thinks she is-


    The list is just looking more and more like the shovel the kid is using to dig himself a grave. He needs to be a lot smarter than this.


    ¡°Do you have any way to pro-


    -for someone who is a detective, you¡¯re asking for a lot of proof, isn¡¯t that part of investigating?¡± Wolf asks me, with a smirk on her face, ¡°Sorry. I was curious. Pretend I am not here, just a disembodied voice who makes snarky comments.¡±


    Magi looks up at her. She smiles.


    ¡°What is your job exactly?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°Me? I am Ward,¡± Wolf tells me with a smirk, ¡°It means if someone gets too close, I may lock their arm behind their bac-


    -oh,¡± Lacie looks up from her papers. Wolf looks at her and gives her a wiry smile.


    "And you interrupting me?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Sometimes I Ward him from verbal assaults too-


    -you think I am assaulting him-


    -no, but I was making an exception-


    -and that exception-


    -Troy, that¡¯s enough,¡± Florian interjects, ¡°Please let¡¯s be respectful to our guest. I would think you, of all the people, would show some more respect. Especially to an Order of the Exalted Agent. And their Ward.¡± he gives Wolf a nod with a smile.


    He¡¯s asking me to respect an Order of the Exalted Agent. If he knew what I actually was, the Phantoms and the Order have always had their disputes. It is not necessarily a battle of good and evil, more a battle of positive and negative forces. Neither of which are good or evil either, that¡¯s not how the cosmos works. The Celestial were never embodiment of true good and the Phantoms their opposite. Concepts of Good and Evil exist only in the understanding of Mortals who have lost connection with the Realms, so it is the only way for them to understand the nature of forces outside of themselves.


    The true nature of the Order and the Phantoms and that of the Celestials is the balanced between the negative and positive forces. The Orders job was always to maintain the balance, not annihilate it.


    To rid the world of all negative forces would be just as devastating if all positives forces would. Fuck, I am sounding like a textbook.


    "Fine, Florian," it''s best to maintain peace for now.


    I am going to have to find other ways to impede this investigation. One of them will be finding that reporter.

 Magi 15 - Oakside Police Department

    How well does Florian know Troy? He seems more interested in me than the others. Well, him and Lacie. I can¡¯t tell if she is looking at me or Wolf. From time to time, the two of them glance at each other from across the table. Lacie looks away every time I catch her looking. However, Troy¡¯s glance has been stone cold, like a gargoyle. I am actually worried he is a gargoyle.


    ¡°I am feeling eyes, they feel threatening,¡± Wolf laughs.


    Troy clears his throat, ¡°You¡¯re not a very good Ward then, are you?¡±


    ¡°Daad,¡± Lacie remarks.


    ¡°Oh, well considering he is alive, and isn¡¯t harmed, I think I am the best Ward out there,¡±


    ¡°So you have an ego and a big mouth,¡±


    ¡°Daad, please, stop,¡±


    ¡°Should we move this along?¡± I ask.


    Florian left, to turn over Zoe¡¯s security footage to the tech department. We¡¯ve been sitting in a conference room where the room has felt incredibly awkward. And I realize I don¡¯t know how to engage with people. Should I make an attempt? Ah, I see now - what she was trying to say this entire time.


    ¡°What about?¡± Lacie ask, ¡°We¡¯ve already gone over the evidence we have.¡±


    We are waiting for Florian to return.


    ¡°So,¡± I begin. I can already hear Wolf hold in a laugh, ¡°Your Daughter and Father. What¡¯s it like working together?¡±


    Wolf covers her mouth. Attempting to hide the wide grin behind it.


    ¡°What¡¯s it like working as Ward and Agent? I¡¯ve actually never seen an Agent with a Ward before, you must be pretty hot stuff, or maybe you work as a model on the side?¡± Troy barks.


    Wolf laughs.


    ¡°Oh, yes, he has a photoshoot after this,¡± Wolf retorts.


    ¡°Oh, wow!¡± Lacie says excitedly.


    She frowns, ¡°Wait. That¡¯s a joke.¡± she continues and then buries her face into her paperwork.


    What do I do? Normally we have a lot more to work off of and it¡¯s easy to simply talk about the work at present. We don¡¯t have a lot of information at hand right now.


    ¡°So Magi,¡± Lacie looks at me, ¡°What does someone in the Order do when they aren¡¯t working? I¡¯ve always been curious.¡±


    I can feel Wolf look over at me, there¡¯s a grin in her eyes.


    ¡°Me?¡± I shouldn¡¯t talk much about myself, ¡°Well, I am sure most people engage in their-


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    -and what are your hobbies?¡± Lacie asks at me.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± Wolf tells me with a challenging smile.


    ¡°I,¡± tapping my fingers on the table, ¡°Do puzzles.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re like a Super Investigator,¡± Lacie says excitedly.


    ¡°What¡¯s a Super Investigator!¡± Troy looks at her.


    ¡°You¡¯re like the typical detective I see in my comic books,¡± Lacie tells me, ¡°There¡¯s detective Bernado who solves his cases like a puzzle.¡±


    Wolf straight chortles this time. Now I feel incredibly awkward.


    ¡°I,um - it¡¯s, I don¡¯t - that¡¯s,¡± great and now I cannot talk in front of them, ¡°I do - and don¡¯t do that.¡±


    Lacie tilts her head, ¡°You¡¯re so normal.¡±


    ¡°Um-


    -at first you were all stoic, and cool, and I just thought you were the super serious type, but you¡¯re totally not,¡±


    ¡°She caught you,¡± Wolf tells me, poking me in the shoulder.


    She looks over at Lacie, ¡°He¡¯s actually incredibly socially awkward-


    -I am not,¡± and now they¡¯ll likely think lesser of me, for getting so choked up so easily because of one question.


    Lacie giggles.


    ¡°Shy boys are the cutest-


    -are you a police officer or here to gossip,¡± Troy interrupts.


    ¡°I can like boys,¡± why does she sound so hesitant? ¡°And be an officer. Being an officer doesn¡¯t mean I cannot like clothes and makeup.¡± She glares at her Father, ¡°Don¡¯t be mean.¡±


    ¡°I er,¡± Troy looks like he¡¯s mentally berating himself, ¡°Sorry.¡±


    She smiles, ¡°You¡¯re forgiven.¡±


    ¡°Er, yes,¡± Troy scratches the back of his head.


    ¡°Look at us, bonding,¡± Wolf teases.


    Bonding, is that the term she would use? It has dawned on me I haven¡¯t really interacted much with people in a long while. I don¡¯t necessarily know how I am supposed to feel about that, I¡¯ve mostly been in hotels - for my safety because-


    -what do we have for the case? There has to be something, a link, a detail we¡¯re missing, perhaps. I can feel Wolf¡¯s eyes on me. I am sure she wants me to engage more in talking with the others more appropriately. What is our relationship, anyway? Wolf and I, that is. I¡¯ve had Wards before - Troy is correct in mentioning that is strange for any Agent to have a Ward and that¡¯s merely-


    -I am sitting here in social awkwardness hoping for Florian to return with something, to ask a question. Something I know of.


    ¡°What,¡± I look at Lacie, she notices and exchanges a look, ¡°do you like?¡±


    ¡°My hobbies?¡± Lacie asks, pointing to herself.


    While I nod yes in response. Wolf gives a teasing, ¡°Oh hoo-hoo.¡±


    ¡°Well, I like comic books, especially detective ones-


    -isn¡¯t that,¡± Troy begins and notices Lacie¡¯s death look, ¡°What I mean is - doesn¡¯t that bother you considering you¡¯re already a detective?¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s different,¡± Lacie begins, ¡°These are magical detectives based on the Order of the Exalted history. Supposedly, they were once more like Knightly Paladins detectives who investigated the Shadow world - it¡¯s, uh, what they call it in Cosmos Wonderland.¡±


    Cosmos Wonderland? What¡¯s that face Troy is making? Does he know something? That glitch, with the camera - why am I? I don¡¯t - there has to be something I can look through to get myself out of this headspace-


    -I¡¯ve returned from the tech department,¡± saved by Florian, ¡°I will have them looking over the security footage, until then, I am going to leave you with Lacie and Troy. Unless there is anything else you need?¡±


    ¡°I was wondering,¡± I state, ¡°I feel we are missing a key component. The link, have there been any other recent accidents?¡±


    Florian studies me. What is that expression Troy is making? I also would like to know where he has gotten all of his information about the Order from. He seems to know more than he is letting on? Or am I being suspicious for no reason?


    "Well, there was a death in an apartment complex, I do not know if we''re grasping at straws, but a man died of asphyxiation and his wife recently died due to self slaughter, I don''t know if there is any connection to be had, but any insight you can provide would be appreciated," Florian states.


    Then that¡¯s where we should go next.


    ¡°I¡¯ll look into, if that¡¯s all right,¡± I state.


    ¡°Please do, if you find something, please let me know,¡±


    ¡°How long do you think combing through the security footage will take?¡± I ask.


    ¡°A day or two,¡± Florian tells me with a nod.


    I at least know where to start. To either eliminate the connection or to determine if it is connected.

 Quinn 22 - Ashwood Highschool - Uppertown

    Sliding the phone underneath the desk. Pretending to be invested in math class. Who is Troy Holland anyway? He claims he is not even Human and that he knows of the pen and its'' power. And now he wants me to be worried about, what? Exactly.  I suppose I expected more apathy from the police.


    Looking back up. Feigning interested on what the teacher, Miss Taylia Goldman, is saying and pointing to the overhead. I notice Charles'' glancing at me. He chose to sit next to me. Truth is that I''ve never really had any friends. Most of the kids like to show off their brand of cruelty in the form of harassment. In which the harassers'' behavior is some kind of initiation that wins them some sort of social power.


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    "Phone," Charles mouths.


    She won''t take it away. She''ll give me three nice warnings, if she catches me, and then to save me "the humiliation" by talking to me after class.


    "Quentin," Miss.Goldman noticed I am not paying attention, "I hope we don''t have our phones out."


    Quickly opening up the calculator. And lifting my phone up, "Sorry Miss. Goldman. I was using the calculator."


    I am not easily embarrassed even if some classmates snicker. Miss. Goldman frowns at the classroom, "Remember class what I have said about respecting one another. We are allowed to use our tools in class. Thank you Quentin for being so brave and sharing."

 Magi 16 - Downtown Oakside Heading to Avenue View Apartments

    Hayes Bentley; April 11th, 2020


    Morrison Mathews; April 17th, 2020


    Harris Montgomery April 24th, 2020


    Zoe Thornton; May 1st, 2020


    Escalation? Four people are dead in a month and certainly these could be merely accidents and we could be jumping at shadows. It doesn¡¯t feel like that, though. Is this Karma¡¯s goal? Perhaps they didn¡¯t think anyone would be investigating these accidents? I am pretty sure they would be correct if Zoe¡¯s death hadn¡¯t been poorly handled. That could have been worded better, sounds harsher than what I intend.


    We¡¯re heading towards the location of death of Lukas Holt. He died of asphyxiation. An allergic reaction according to the file, the case was dubbed an accident which fits the current profile of the four others. Could this be a link? I won¡¯t be able to determine anything until we get there. Currently in the passenger seat of the rental car, going over more notes mentally. Looking over at Wolf, who is focused on the road.


    ¡°What do you think about the team?¡± I ask her.


    Wolf laughs.


    ¡°You¡¯re asking me what I think about the team?¡± she repeats playfully.


    ¡°Yes,¡±


    ¡°Well, for one, I find it endlessly entertaining how little you can engage with other people-


    -I engaged-


    -Oh yes, you did a wonderful job,¡± Wolf teases.


    ¡°I admit I was a bit awkwa-


    -a bit? How do you define a bit awkward, mister world famous detective who lives off of coffee and overthinking?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t always do that either,¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. The car was feeling heavy with all that thinking you were doing over there,¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t overthinking,¡±


    ¡°Either way, I think Florian is nice, I think he seems naturally talented in his area of expertise. Lacie seems like she is finding her legs,¡± she pauses while taking a left, ¡°But she has good instincts as well. Shaun and Troy, I both want to punch for different reasons and they are on different tiers of punchable.¡±


    ¡°Troy seems suspicious of me, in particular,¡± I state.


    ¡°He kept looking over at you, I just cannot wait for him to give me an opportunity to throw him down to the ground,¡±


    ¡°In an arm lock, then?¡± I ask her curiously.


    ¡°Oh no, he¡¯s not an arm lock type of guy, he¡¯s more of a make sure his face hits hard into the ground type of guy. Shaun is a press against the wall in an armlock type of guy,¡±


    ¡°Please make sure you defend yourself for a good reason-


    -I always have a good reason-


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    -Really, even with the Director-


    -you know you secretly adored it,¡± she only quickly turns her head to wink at me.


    Is she - probably shouldn¡¯t read too much into it. We¡¯re almost at the location given in this paper. Downtown feels distinctly different from the rest of Oakside. It¡¯s across a bridge, looking over the bay. On the right-hand side is Ferris wheel overlooking the waters, sitting on a dockside. Looks like an amusement park from this distance. Sometimes you can hear boat horns. Bicycle pass us in the bicycle lane, and buses have vanished. There were so many in midtown, now they all seem to have, but faded.


    Parts of downtown remind me of places in the Celestial Crest back at home. The buildings are older; they don¡¯t seem as new and as the ones in midtown.


    Speaking of which - this is the place then? Is it - functional? Wolf is parking in unevenly paved car lot. She looks at the apartment complex with a bit of skepticism.


    ¡°This place looks,¡± she pauses, attempting probably to make a joke about the situation as she does, ¡°condemned and cursed.¡±


    Looking at a brick building that I can only describe-no, Wolf put it best. This place both looks condemned and cursed. It¡¯s mostly a brick exterior building, except with two different bricks, on the bottom floor is a base of red bricks, and the rest of it is tan brick. Some windows have been boarded up entirely. Seems from some faint scorch marks from the exterior of the building; there must have been a fire at some point which would explain the two wooden portions of the building.


    ¡°Must have seen a fire,¡± I tell her, I don¡¯t know why I am telling her this.


    ¡°And it¡¯s unfortunate the fire didn¡¯t consume it,¡± Wolf retorts.


    ¡°I don¡¯t wish for the building to be taken in a blaze of glory,¡±


    ¡°Neither do I, but this building looks sad,¡± Wolf tells me, ¡°If brick could be depressed, it would be this brick.¡±


    ¡°Depression bricks,¡±


    ¡°Precisely,¡± Wolf takes a step toward the front door, ¡°Need a code to get in.¡±


    Right. I have one. The one Florian gave me, it¡¯s the code the Civilian Services use to get into the building for emergency purposes. Attempting to open the folder, Florian is also old school, it seems. Handing me stacks of papers and four different folders.


    ¡°Here,¡± I show her the corner.


    ¡°Thank you,¡±


    Despite the lack of care, this building has seen it¡¯s still a home people are living in and I should show more respect in that fact. Something about this building, the entrance, feels cold. It¡¯s not just Lukas, I feel. This building has seen a lot of death in its time.


    A part of me is telling me not to walk into this building. Old superstitions. I was taught as a child by my Mother. She would say something along the line of walls can speak. And if the walls spoke in this building, they would tell me to go back. In fact, the words I would have for this building, entering the threshold from the outside to the inside, is ¡°No¡± and ¡°Don¡¯t get too close¡±.


    If this weren¡¯t for my job, something - a force would be stopping me from entering. Though I know there is no such thing. Despite my vision going black in here, there is a hazy, black mist that floats in this building. It immediately feels like something is attempting to latch on and sap you of your energy. Someone lying on the floor, a foggy vision. He thought he had reached safety. He called for help, but there was no one there.


    It smells moldy in here. Or stuffy. It¡¯s suffocating and dizzying.


    The carpet is old, that type of carpet that¡¯s crunchy, and not plush. It is stained and something tells me that not all of it is food or drink related.


    ¡°What a charming place,¡± Wolf remarks, ¡°I just love all the implied bloodstains, and the foreboding atmosphere.¡±


    ¡°Should I take you to more foreboding places?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°Are you indirectly asking me on a date?¡± Wolf retorts quickly.


    Why would she say something like that?


    ¡°No,¡±


    ¡°Well, it seems clear, the only threat is the foreboding atmosphere,¡±


    ¡°How are you going to punch the foreboding atmosphere, I wonder,¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll give it a dirty look and hope it will go away,¡±


    ¡°Their apartment is on the third floor,¡±


    ¡°Wonderful, so this isn¡¯t a date?¡±


    ¡°Why do you want to go on a date?¡± why did I ask that?


    Wolf raises a brow, ¡°Do you want to go on a date?¡±


    ¡°This joke isn¡¯t funny, we¡¯re working-


    -oh right, professional, and here I thought your human exe file was working properly-


    -Wolf, please, let¡¯s stay on task-


    -I am a Ward, I am as here as this foreboding atmosphere,¡±


    She smirks. Am I blind? Am I missing something? I am sure my Father wouldn¡¯t approve. This is horrendously off topic. I am reading too much into this. She¡¯s naturally that type of person who likes to tease and poke people¡¯s buttons to get them pressed. We need to investigate Lukas¡¯ death, not joke or - I am not sure what this is - at the front entrance on someone¡¯s bloodstain.

 Trista 11 - Oakside Police Department

    Stupid fucking kid.


    Just fucking kill him already.


    You¡¯re spending too much fucking time trying to get him to see fucking reason. This kid is too prideful. Too arrogant. Too haughty. And he¡¯s going to lose this if he doesn¡¯t check his ego at the door. Gah. Like I wouldn¡¯t know anything about that. Magi, is it? Seems onto me already and I have only been here for a day.


    ¡°Are you ready?¡± Lacie enters the room.


    ¡°For?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°We can work on your dating profile while we wait for Magi and Wolf to return,¡±


    ¡°Is now the time to be doing this?¡±


    ¡°What are you doing right now?¡± she asks defiantly. Crossing her arms. And raising a brow.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± I grumble.


    ¡°See, it¡¯s the perfect time,¡±


    She studies our office space, which what you would know her desks is decorated with gem encrusted pencil holders, a pink file divider, a burgundy framed computer. A kitten calendar. Meanwhile, Troy¡¯s desk is as dry as a man dying of dehydration. There¡¯s another dead plant. This man kills plants the way he must have killed his relationships. His contacts were all work fellows and most have either retired or gave me a dirty look when I tried to approach them.


    ¡°Now,¡± Lacie sits on the ugly office chair Troy bought.


    It¡¯s dark brown, sort of lumpy to sit on. The chair is infused with Troy¡¯s sad existence. And now I find myself in a war with an inanimate object because of how much of a reminder it is that I have been shoved in the body of a man with nothing going on in his life. Besides death and retirement.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Lacie asks me curiously, turning on the computer.


    ¡°I have little going on for me,¡± I tell her, ¡°Why even start a dating profile? My meat suit is expiring-


    -Daad you¡¯re not that old, yes you have gray hair, but you¡¯re forty-five, not decrepitate,¡±


    ¡°Look around, I look like a dead man walking, might as well be eighty and the only door I am walking to is a casket,¡±


    ¡°Daad,¡± Lacie scowls, ¡°Stop talking like that. Well, no, okay, that¡¯s unfair. What I mean to say.¡± She smiles suddenly, so brightly. And there goes her Aura, ¡°I am glad you¡¯re upset about the way you have been treating yourself. It¡¯s nice to see you wanting to change things. The point I am trying to make is that you have time to work on things. And we can start here, with a dating profile.¡±


    Why does she care for this man so much? It¡¯s very clear that he didn¡¯t care for himself. Even then, if he didn¡¯t care for himself as much, then he clearly put little effort into his relationships. She shouldn¡¯t have to take his burden like that.


    ¡°Why are you upset?¡± she asks me.


    ¡°Because you shouldn¡¯t be the one have to carry my emotional burden,¡±


    Fuck. What did I say? Her eyes light up. Her Aura brightens so much that it floods the room with light. Did I make her happy? She jumps up from the chair and hugs me tightly, ¡°You¡¯re so sweet.¡± She tells me, burying her face into my chest, ¡°But I took this burden because you were hurting. Deeply hurting. You loved Mom very much and tried so hard. No, I am not taking sides, but when you guys divorced, I remember how wounded you were. You buried yourself into work so much that you barely felt like a person anymore. You were your work. And it only got worse when your brother committed self slaughter. I promised myself there needed to be one person who understood your wound. I know it wasn¡¯t my duty. But you were so empty-


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    -Hey!¡± I interrupt her, ¡°You er. Don¡¯t. Have. Do that any more. I¡¯ll um.¡±


    Fuck.


    What am I doing?


    ¡°Be better at it,¡±


    She squeezes me tighter, ¡°Then we can start with your dating profile. All I ever wanted was for you to be whole again.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I get that, show me how to use the computer to make this dating profile,¡±


    She scowls.


    ¡°You¡¯re not that old,¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m joking, but still show me,¡±


    She smiles. Happily, walking back to the computer.


    ¡°I know plenty of people who have met online,¡± she continues.


    ¡°Is that how you have met your um boyfriends?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°My um boyfriends?¡± she repeats.


    ¡°Er. You.¡± fuck I am digging myself a grave.


    ¡°I,¡±


    ¡°Were,¡±


    ¡°I was?¡±


    ¡°Er. Look. You- um seemed vastly more interested in that Ward than you did that paramedic,¡±


    Lacie quickly looks over at me, her eyes filled with panic, she flails her hands around, ¡°Don¡¯t joke like that. They were both beautiful. He was this beautiful, golden sunflower. And she¡¯s this, she¡¯s like a man in a woman, but a womanly man - wait, hold on, that sounds wrong. I just mean she has the energy to be forceful. You know. Wait. Er. Aak. Dad don¡¯t joke like that.¡±


    Mhm. I believe it for a second, she¡¯s not crushing on that Ward.


    What the fuck am I doing?


    For a second, I almost forgot my aim. You, Trista, are getting too swept up in this. You won¡¯t be Mortal for long. If Eras is as cruel as Eras can be, then he¡¯ll likely yank you from your Mortal Veil once the Pen is retrieved.


    There¡¯s no reason I should be nice to this female Mortal. I am not even her Father truly. Yet, oddly, I have given her some kind of hope. I am a Phantom. People don''t get hope from me. I feed off their misery. I influence their darkest parts of their personality. Why is she so happy with me? So pleased. So hopeful?


    ¡°What are your hobbies?¡± Lacie asks me.


    ¡°Killing plants I guess,¡±


    Lacie looks over at the dead plant on Troy¡¯s desk and she shoves it over into the trash can, ¡°Moving on. You like fishing.¡±


    ¡°Is that even romantic?¡±


    ¡°Imagine,¡± Lacie begins, ¡°A rugged outside man-


    -I am hardly rugged-


    -well when I mean rugged, I don¡¯t mean those model men, with the big muscles, in plaid shirts, that¡¯s what they think you mean when you say rugged. But I mean someone outdoorsy and adventurous,¡± she giggles for a second, ¡°Imagine a moonlit dinner date, where you take her hiking or him.¡± She looks at me.


    ¡°Woman, I think,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°Do you want to explore your options?¡±


    ¡°No,¡±


    ¡°Heterosexual then,¡±


    ¡°What next?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°Do you have any photos?¡± she ask me.


    ¡°None that wouldn¡¯t make me look sad, alone, divorced, with an unpainted apartment, and no personality beyond that,¡±


    ¡°Da-


    -don¡¯t scold me, it¡¯s the truth. You know it, I know it, don¡¯t deny it,¡± I pause.


    Fine, if I am going to live like this, I have to make the most out of it.


    ¡°Lacie,¡± I call out her name.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Are we poor?¡±


    ¡°Um?¡±


    ¡°Look, if I am going to do this dating profile thing, then I want photos in good, nice, looking clothes, something that doesn¡¯t make me look like a divorced serial killer,¡±


    She frowns.


    ¡°It¡¯s dark humor get used it,¡± I grumble.


    She giggles, ¡°You have become funnier since getting hit by a car.¡±


    ¡°See,¡± I point to her, ¡°Something got shaken loose. Probably the dead stick up my ass, because I probably killed that too while it was living when it got shoved up there.¡±


    She laughs, ¡°Daaad.¡±


    ¡°What? You thought it was funny,¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± Lacie smiles, ¡°We can put that on your profile. I have a quick sense of humor. I am witty and love dark humor. What else?¡±


    ¡°I really like those night time shows, the ones with all those people yelling and slapping each other. It¡¯s kind of delightful to watch,¡±


    ¡°Soap operas?¡±


    ¡°Yep, that¡¯s the one, especially if they are in Aoya,¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re watching international soap operas?!¡±


    ¡°Look, it was the only thing on last night,¡±


    She frowns.


    ¡°I wish I could find someone who would watch foreign films with me,¡± Lacie sighs, ¡°Why can¡¯t men just watch foreign romance films, and write me poetry.¡±


    Er.


    ¡°You¡¯ll find the right man,¡± I pause, ¡°Or woman.¡±


    ¡°I,¡± Lacie stares at the computer, ¡°Would you care-


    -absolutely not, you asked me if I wanted to experiment earlier, didn¡¯t you,¡±


    She beams, ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Mhm, just go with your gut or whatever,¡±


    ¡°Okay, how does this sound,¡± Lacie continues, ¡°I have a dark sense of humor, I am quick witted. I enjoy going hiking and fishing. In my downtime, I like to watch Aoi Island soap operas. I like to watch soap operas and foreign romance films.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that all sounds fine,¡±


    Shouldn¡¯t I be doing some kind of work? Like finding a reporter?

 Quinn 23 - Ashwood Highschool Upper Town

    What did I do wrong?


    Elaine is dead, and apparently there are people looking into the deaths of the others. Enough for Troy to pester me in class about it. I assumed no one in the police department would care. This just points out their hypocrisy. Doesn¡¯t it? Would they have cared if I had chosen people who were of lower profile? It irritates me. They moved so swiftly when it was someone important, like Morrison, like Hayes. They were just fashionable criminals they paraded on TV.


    ¡°You look down,¡± Charles mentions while we take a break before our next class.


    If I am being honest, Charles¡¯ presence at this given time only annoys me. It annoys me because I know what I have to do. I have to play pretend. Wear a smile that reassures him.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± I imitate his carefree speech.


    ¡°Are you sure? It must be hard, you had two neighbors die right next door,¡± Charles states with concern.


    So I plaster on a smile, people wear when they try to reassure someone else.


    ¡°I am more worried about you Charles,¡± I put on That voice, ¡°That wasn''t something you should have been there for. That must have been difficult.¡±


    Charles frown and bites his bottom lip.


    ¡°I am trying to reassure you,¡±


    ¡°And I am trying to reassure you I am fine, while also making sure you¡¯re reassured,¡± I giggle.


    Charles smiles. There¡¯s a light in his eyes, ¡°Okay Quinn. I am glad you¡¯re okay. I¡¯m handling it in my own way. Who were you texting in class? You seemed bothered by the messages.¡±


    Will he stop asking questions? It¡¯s annoying. Why does he care so much? Why is he so nosy?


    ¡°No one,¡± I state.


    Charles raises a brow.


    Stop asking me questions. Stop trying to prod me for answers. I thought I wanted to be friends with Charles, but now he annoys me in the same way Dominic and James do.


    ¡°Please Quinn, give me something, you said you wanted to be my friend,¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± is my irritation slipping through, ¡°It was my annoying grandpa. He wants to meet up with me, and I have curfew and he¡¯s yelling to me about my grades. Because I get straight D¡¯s and C¡¯s.¡±


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    That¡¯s believable enough.


    ¡°Why are your grades so bad?¡± Charles asks.


    ¡°Because I don¡¯t find school interesting,¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re clearly smart,¡±


    ¡°Grades are not good markers of intelligence anyway, why is everything in Oakside so ass backwards? You know, in the Celestial Crest and the Northern Asian Alliance, they don¡¯t give out grades, they give out performance evaluations. Why does it matter?¡±


    ¡°I could,¡± Charles pause, ¡°Tutor you, if you¡¯d like.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need a tutor,¡± I tell him, ¡°Honestly Charles, I am-¡±


    -I should stop talking. Mother has always told me not to lay all of my cards out onto the table. And if I say anything further, I will end a friendship before it even really started. Even if Charles annoys me, he¡¯s too much of a bleeding heart. The type to wear his emotions on his sleeves. The type of person who sees the good in everybody. And honestly, he¡¯d challenge me every step of the way if I told him the truth.


    And I rather not get irritated with him.


    ¡°You are?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing, I would have said something out of anger anyway,¡± I respond.


    Charles frowns.


    ¡°I know we haven¡¯t spoken before,¡± Charles tells me, ¡°And we¡¯re only starting to really get to know each other. But everyone in school sort of knows who you are, there are rumors about you. I want to believe you¡¯re a good person, but you¡¯re going to have to trust me a little.¡±


    Am I a good person?


    Apparently, if the police are investigating Karma¡¯s actions, how do they judge me?


    ¡°Well, trust me too,¡± I tell him, ¡°I am sparing you, I think, from the parts of myself that I don¡¯t I like. But I am not sure. Often, it just feels like a lot of nothing.¡±


    Charles nods, he gets up on cue as the bell goes off.


    ¡°You really should talk to the - school counselors,¡±


    They won¡¯t help. I¡¯ve spoken with the school counselors before in the past, in different schools. They all say about the same. They all give me the same look. They perceive me all the same way. They are terrified of me, disturbed by me, or a combination of both. They think that there is something wrong with me, they¡¯ve brought it up with my Mother before who denies the entire thing. She says I am fine the way I am. I don¡¯t think I really understand the truth about myself.


    Originally, when I became Karma, when I accepted the powers of the Pen, I thought I could do more good. But nothing good seems to come out of it. Elaine is dead. And the police are apparently investigating me - Karma. Why do they care about someone like Zoe? She killed more people than I have. What makes one person¡¯s actions more acceptable than another¡¯s?


    Hayes was a terrible person. Why do they care about a man who forced himself upon others? Morrison aided Hayes. Lured his victims so that way Hayes could prey upon them. The police are so hypocritical. We have a Penitentiary; the Director has deliberately gone on the news and claimed criminals deserve punishment, not luxury.


    Instead of praising Karma. They condemn Karma.


    Karma isn¡¯t supposed to be the figure they condemn. Karma isn¡¯t supposed to be someone they judge with the same lens they judged these people. Karma is supposed to be an idea, he¡¯s supposed to be more than this. He¡¯s supposed to be something people like Zoe fear and the Police praise. Like the heroes they praise on TV. The heroes we plaster on walls and posters and praise for the same actions. The fictional heroes we idolize like Powerman. And these fictional heroes have caused more indirect harm. Yet people aspire to be them.


    The world is so hypocritical.

 Magi 17 - Avenue View Apartments

    There is a deafening silence in this apartment, as if there are no occupants and they are all figments of our imagination. The residents seem to come and go like shadows. They aren¡¯t the only shadows that pass through these halls, my vision goes hazy from time to time. As if someone has placed a black screen over it. There¡¯s an overwhelming heaviness, it presses down on you. An invisible force that surrounds you. Like glue on the skin. It¡¯s irritating, and the feeling isn¡¯t helped by the fact it is raining. You can hear rain droplets pelting the exterior of the building hard while my right hand throbs from the change of pressure in the air.


    It is sickening in this place. Something both filled with sorrow and isolation, transforming the apartment complex from a place of residence to that of imprisonment. This must be the apartment 3-D2.


    ¡°At least it¡¯s affordable,¡± Wolf mentions.


    I am not really sure how to respond to a comment like that. I am not sure how I can make a situation like this funny. I am sure she can. Looking over to the apartment next door, these flats are relatively close to each other. If someone snuck in, people would have noticed. 3-D1, why does apartment interest me so much? Behind the door feels like a slumbering power. It feels distinct from feeling the hallway gives off. Taking the key and inserting it into the lock of the apartment 3-D2.


    Judging from the doorway, seeing the bouquets of wilted flowers and the memorial cards taped on the door. Kicking some cards that have fallen onto the exterior welcoming mat into the flat, scattering them across the tile foyer. These people were well liked, they had a supportive community.


    The smell hits first-


    -They haven¡¯t gotten the cleaners out? Decaying blood has a certain smell to it, like soil and moldy food ladened with sugar. It mixes with the scent of the rain from the outside as cold air wafts in from the shattered window.


    ¡°So much for being greeted with cookies,¡± Wolf remarks.


    It¡¯s musty in here, the carpet has that smell when it has been rained on overnight. It is perfumed with blood that has been both baked in the blistering sun as the days warm up and cooled down in evening rains.


    The carpet is matted in sanguine fluid; I don¡¯t think people really realize how much force a gun really has. They must have had connections in order to gain the licenses to own a firearm. Most of her brain matter exploded out the window. The glass glistening in bits of brown blood that has oxidized. Parts of her hair and scalp are still attached to bits of cracked glass. The walls closest to the impact have been splattered brown.


    I am sure if they hire a cleaner, they would likely to find bits of her skull even in the kitchen.


    ¡°Ste-¡±


    Her hand reaching towards-


    -Pushing that aside. I do not believe Elaine¡¯s death is a direct cause of Karma¡¯s actions. If Lukas¡¯ death is connected to Karma¡¯s, then this would be the indirect result of their actions. Death doesn¡¯t exist in a vacuum; it affects the surrounding people. The neighbors, the trauma of having to witness the sounds of two deaths through paper-thin walls. The smell alone that permeates outside of these walls.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Elaine¡¯s anguish was immense. To inflict such self violence on herself, she felt immense guilt. Grief even. She blamed herself.


    I came here to assess or determine Karma¡¯s involvement in Lukas¡¯ case. In some ways, this feels like I have been given a mysterious puzzle in an unlabeled box. Something is here. An answer, I just don¡¯t know where - near the refrigerator. It is said in the case file that Lukas and Elaine were arguing the night of his death. He came to the refrigerator and grabbed a drink. Walking through the living room, glancing at the chair where she had taken her life just yesterday. I hope she has found some form of peace in her passing.


    ¡°The rain really sets the mood,¡± Wolf states, breaking the somber silence, just as thunder rolls in.


    ¡°What mood is that?¡± I ask heading into the kitchen.


    ¡°The detective mood really sets the stage for investigating,¡± she pauses, looking at the counters, ¡°and part of her jaw is in the fruit basket, marvelous.¡±


    ¡°Does this make you uneasy?¡± I ask her, looking at the refrigerator. Why is this important? I feel drawn to it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t pretend it doesn¡¯t make you uneasy,¡± Wolf remarks.


    She noticed? No matter how many cases I do, I still haven¡¯t gotten used to this part. The part where someone is dead, and it¡¯s difficult to not feel melancholy. Death is tragic, but I also do not believe that anyone who inflicts this kind of harm on others indirectly or directly is doing it purely for no reason. Or out of inherent wicked actions. What is your reason Karma? What do you believe you are doing or accomplishing?


    Placing my hand on the refrigerator, it¡¯s like something was here. I cannot explain it. I am sure that some would probably say that I am crazy to think that. There¡¯s a faint presence still here, lingering, haunting this location.


    An etching? I used to get that scratching sensation in the back of my head as a child, mostly. Like perceiving words that are not there and spoken from somewhere far away, it is invisible and yet clearly there. Vision hazy, that black screen going over my eyes, yet again.


    Turning my attention to the wall next to the refrigerator, who is there then?


    For a second I am reminded of the shadows I used to see as a child, turning the visible white wall black. Though it¡¯s not truly black, it is shadows like flesh. Rotting away the way skin does when it decays, we stare at each other for a moment. It seems surprised I can see it; I am surprised I see anything.


    ¡°Um hello,¡± and I am talking to it too, apparently?


    Wolf looks at the wall, ¡°Found something or chatting with the wall?¡±


    ¡°For now, I am talking with the wall,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°Clearly you¡¯re not just a wall,¡± I respond.


    ¡°And you¡¯ve lost your mind, it appears,¡± Wolf remarks.


    ¡°I¡¯ll um explain, sometime, later, maybe,¡±


    And it¡¯s run off. Pretty in a hurry, too. Where is it going? I cannot believe I am entertaining this idea at all. I am just clearly not thinking straight-


    -no, there isn¡¯t anyway to rationalize what happened-


    -I am pretty sure it is sleep deprivation. Which makes sense for me-


    -my instincts tell me otherwise. Wolf is watching me do mental ballet. How do I explain to her the weird shit I see on a daily? The stuff I try to block out she¡¯ll, like my Father, only think less of me. He believes that I have the same condition as my mother. He says that these were hallucinations. If they are, then I have been hallucinating for a long time. Great. I¡¯ve completely lost track of what I was doing.

 Trista 12 - Oakside Police Department

    ¡°There,¡± Lacie states proudly smiling at the computer screen.


    ¡°Wish the only photo I could provide wasn¡¯t in the courtyard of my work in my work uniform,¡± I grumble.


    ¡°A uniform can be very sexy,¡±


    ¡°I am sure I¡¯ll tell Florian that when he asks why I was modeling in the courtyard,¡±


    I don¡¯t know about this whole dating profile thing. What happens if I find a nice Mortal Woman who finds interests in me? It¡¯s not like Eras would keep me in the Mortal World once the Pen is discovered and returned. Which I haven¡¯t done yet. It¡¯s not like our relationship could or would last, I do not feel emotions the way Mortals do. Us Phantoms are driven purely by our instincts. Instincts such as finding prey or seeking an environment that which we could thrive in. That is places of negativity. Not always, but it is rare to find a Phantom who finds interest in any positive emotions. Though those that dwell and linger longer than any Social or Personal Phantom, Primordials are as close to Celestials as you can get. And they live for as long as the idea of them lives. Just as the Celestials do.


    The Mortal Conciousness, the collective, gave birth to both the Celestials and the Phantoms. Birthing them from stars manipulated by their thoughts. Those thoughts became alive and were given power through intense shared belief.


    Gah. I might as well become an Oracle and start spewing history in the Oratories.


    ¡°You can tell Florian it was for a good cause,¡± Lacie tells me cheerfully.


    ¡°What is for a good cause?¡± Florian is standing at the doorframe of the office. I am surprised the sound of the elevator next to our office space hasn¡¯t driven me insane.


    ¡°I am starting a modeling business,¡± I am attempting one of those Mortal jokes.


    Florian laughs.


    ¡°Sexy,¡± Florian responds, giving me a teasing smirk, ¡°What are we working on?¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Dating profile,¡± Lacie tells him.


    Florian looks at her, ¡°Finally giving up those men you call boyfriends?¡±


    ¡°Eep,¡± Lacie ducks her head low, looking at the keyboard, ¡°No-no-no it was for my Dad.¡±


    Florian looks at me, he seems surprised, but ultimately nods in approval, ¡°I am glad Troy. I was becoming worried the reason I came down here. You seemed on edge with the Order of the Exalted agent¡¯s presence. Anything I should know?¡±


    Shit.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t he just seem like a jeweled encrusted police officer,¡± I remark, ¡°I don¡¯t know he waltz in here, in his gilded clothes. His wool coat lined with gold, and his crew neck shirt with the embroidered peacock. Do you know how expensive that tailoring had to be?¡±


    Lacie looks up at me, ¡°He didn¡¯t seem that bad though. Like he dresses expensive, but he didn¡¯t have the personality of someone expensive. He didn¡¯t have an expensive personality, is what I mean.¡±


    We both look at her.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to have to unpack what an expensive personalty means,¡± Florian looks at me, ¡°Didn¡¯t know you knew that much about fashion Troy. Didn¡¯t know you were interested in it actually-


    -hey, wait, you¡¯re right,¡± Lacie interjects.


    Fuck.


    ¡°I listen to you,¡± I state looking over at Lacie, nailed it, ¡°You would have said about the same.¡±


    Lacie beams. Her Aura radiates. Mmm, I preferred the part where they were suspicious.


    Florian smiles, ¡°Did something happen when you got hit yesterday?¡±


    By the car. Yes, the real Troy is dead, I am a Phantom intertwined with the Spirit of a King from an Age you were not even fathomed to be born, and now I am trying to pretend to be the sad, beige man known as Troy and ultimately failing.


    ¡°I saw the light at the end of the tunnel,¡± I grumble.


    Florian raises a brow, ¡°It wasn¡¯t criticism. You just seem more alive-


    -I know right!¡± Lacie stands up, ¡°Was there something you needed Florian?¡±


    ¡°Nope, just making my rounds, making sure everyone is mentally sound,¡± Florian looks at me and smiles, ¡°Give Magi a chance. He¡¯s young, I know that. But he¡¯s well known in the Celestial Crest and honestly one of those rare investigators, I think. He seems to see much deeper than other people do.¡±


    If only he knew the truth.


    ¡°Then, um, can we talk Florian? In private?¡± Lacie asks, she flashes a look my way, ¡°Away from my Dad.¡±


    ¡°What tired of me already?¡± I joke.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s just a question only Florian can answer,¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best in answering,¡± Florian states, ¡°Not sure what I can provide at thirty-two, your father couldn¡¯t at forty-five.¡±


    ¡°One of those questions that doesn¡¯t require age, but experience,¡± Lacie tells him.


    Florian nods, ¡°Troy, if you ever need anything, I know we haven¡¯t always seen eye to eye, but I still respect you-


    -how about you just help me find some nice shirts?¡± I interject.


    Florian laughs, ¡°Deal, but I am afraid I may dress you like my husband.¡±


    What does that even mean?

 Magi 18 - Oakside Midtown Park

    We gathered little from 3-D2, though I do not think Elaine¡¯s death is directly linked to Karma. Truth is, I am realizing what I have been missing this entire time is something my Mother explained to me a long time ago. Growing up, we often visited the Oratories and spoke with the Oracles. We were told of the other Realms. I learned of the other Realms and the Spirits that inhabitant them, my Father would tell me my Mother had a disorder that made her believe-


    -this is insane to consider? I shouldn¡¯t-


    -going to-


    -when someone goes to the superstitious and magical, my Father says, they are giving up on logical explanation. There has to be a logical explanation. Right? But ever since I have been a child, I couldn¡¯t explain the things that I have witnessed, seen, felt, and encountered. And then to admit that I am hunted for-


    -it couldn¡¯t-


    -could it? My Father will probably remove me from this case if he heard the things I am about to consider and open myself up to in this investigation. Of course, I can always keep him out of that conversation, but it makes things more complicated when there are several other people that I would have to do the same.


    And what will she think when I tell her what I believe?


    We¡¯ve found a pleasant park in Oakside. The trees smell of wet leaves and the rest of the air smells of wet soil. You can smell the park benches and my right hand is currently aching with a dull pain. Wolf frowns, but places her hand in the brown bag, ¡°One package of crackers and cheese, with the little almonds and cranberries.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I accept it with my left hand.


    ¡°And for me, what is this, an egg salad sandwich,¡± Wolf states.


    ¡°Can I trust you?¡± I ask her while removing the film covering off the paper tray.


    ¡°Depends on what is going to be said, if this is the part where you confess you¡¯re the murder the entire time, probably not,¡± she laughs.


    ¡°I¡¯m being serious,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°I was too,¡± she responds with a smile, ¡°What is it? Have you finally trusted me with something? Are you going to confess your feelings now?¡±


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Confess my feelings? What-


    ¡°-I don¡¯t joke like that, please, I have to explain something and I - it¡¯s something that you honestly could call my Father and have me suspended for-


    -why would I do a thing like that?¡± she interjects, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t get paid then and have to find a new client. And I am sure they wouldn¡¯t be as cute and awkward.¡±


    ¡°This case differs from other cases I have worked on before,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°Not sure how much different it can be,¡±


    ¡°I am going to say something, and I am going to sound crazy,¡±


    She nods while unwrapping her sandwich from its baker¡¯s paper.


    ¡°Sound crazy away,¡± she responds.


    ¡°I am not sure how familiar you are with the Oratories and Archives of the Oracles, but I am garnering the feeling that this case is no longer something with a rational explanation, in fact what I saw in the apartment, I am certain was something they call a Phantom,¡±


    She¡¯s chewing slowly, taking it in. I suppose I expected more of a reaction from her. She doesn¡¯t seem surprised or angry. She doesn¡¯t immediately put me down or deny what I am saying. Instead, she nods while listening, then processes what is being said, swallows. And continues to nod.


    ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to be involved in a magical investigation,¡± she jokes.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°I am not the Agent here, now am I?¡± she asks with a smile on her face, ¡°I am just the Ward. And if the investigator is saying that, the case involves the Realms and mystical ghost monsters. Then who am I to deny that the truth?¡±


    She just believes me? She just accepts that is the truth? What if I am wrong? What if my Father is right about my Mother and I am leaping to conclusions? Have I met my match, am I just accepting the fact I cannot solve the Karma case without a rational explanation? My instinct tells me no. Something is telling me, driving me to trust my gut on this one. But how can I? My Father told me my Mother suffered from hallucinations, he told me she was manipulating me as a child. I never believed him because that¡¯s not the memories I had of my Mother. But they are so shattered and so warped that maybe he¡¯s right.


    I attempt a dry laugh.


    ¡°I¡¯m just joking,¡± I attempt to bury everything I just said.


    ¡°Oh, really, and I was inclined to believe you too, shame, I don¡¯t joke with people with such a serious expression,¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as multiple Realms, or Phantoms, I am sure the Oracles are just-


    -and who told you that? You wouldn¡¯t tell me something with such seriousness if you didn¡¯t believe it,¡±


    ¡°You believe the Oracles?¡±


    ¡°The Oracles have never once told me you have to believe what they are saying,¡± she says, ¡°They took Oaths to record the lost history as I recall. And didn¡¯t declare anything about the history being some sort of Spiritual belief. That¡¯s just the interpretations of the Traditionalists.¡±


    ¡°You think so?¡±


    ¡°I know that there are people in this world who have experiences I cannot explain or fathom, some in my family,¡±


    Fine.


    ¡°What if I told you I think there is someone out there who can control Phantoms to kill people?¡±


    ¡°I would say find the evidence if that¡¯s what you think,¡± she smiles.


    I nod. I know what I am looking for then. Tomorrow, when looking over the security footage, I knew that distortion wasn¡¯t simply a camera distortion. It¡¯s something else entirely.

 Quinn 24 - Avenue View Apartments

    Mom gets home a bit later than I do, usually. Seeing her shoes at the front entrance of the foyer, though, means I have to make a deal with her to go out later.


    ¡°Quentin,¡± Mother¡¯s voice trails from-


    -My bedroom? She waltzes out with a scrunchy in hand, she¡¯s wearing a nice dress, dark purple, she¡¯s exchanged her glasses for contacts. She always looks like two different people sometimes. Sometimes she looks a Mother, intentionally I think. She¡¯s always told me the importance of making a story. She dresses down with glasses and cardigans because she wants to conjure the impression of a single Mom working hard.


    This Mom though. The one in the purple dress feels more natural. More her genuine face.


    ¡°Why were you in my bedroom?¡± I ask her. I have to tailor my response to sound curious, and not defensive or angry.


    ¡°I was looking for,¡± Mom twirls around her silver, chained bracelet, ¡°You¡¯re always taking my things and never returning them.¡±


    Mom has more accessories than me, I often borrow them. Mom¡¯s like a personal thrift store.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± I ask her.


    ¡°A date dear,¡± Mom responds, walking away from my bedroom, ¡°Well, he thinks it¡¯s a date.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t we full of questions,¡± Mom states, ¡°If you must know, one of the Territory Directors of the law firm I work at, he¡¯s not very good at disguising his true intentions. I don¡¯t believe in the concept of woman sleeping to the top, its fiction designed by men.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re going on a date with him?¡±


    Mom just smiles.


    ¡°I am better at creating fiction than men are,¡± she looks at me more directly, ¡°I¡¯ll leave you some money for pizza or somethi-


    -Actually,¡± I interrupt and notice her disapproval right away, ¡°Sorry-


    -no, go ahead,¡± Mom responds, ¡°Actually?¡±


    ¡°I was asked to go out, after six,¡± I slowly introduce the idea.


    Mom¡¯s gaze immediately feels heavy.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°And why do you need to go out after six?¡± Mom asks me.


    I have to make sure that I am as good as she is with a situation like this. Or else she¡¯ll know I am lying.


    ¡°The arcade doesn¡¯t open until later,¡± I tell her.


    Mom raises one of her arched brows and mulls it over. She¡¯s thinking, she switches her gaze away from me towards the kitchen. It¡¯s clearer to see her purple eyeshadow now and plum lipstick, she folds her dainty fingers together in thought, ¡°I presume you¡¯re going with Charles?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I respond.


    Now she¡¯s making the story up for me. It¡¯s easier for me to be caught if she is the one making up the story because I have to follow everything she is saying.


    ¡°How much homework do you have?¡± she asks, knowing about my grades.


    ¡°It¡¯s 5 now, I can do half of it in an hour, and the other half after I get back before bed? Plus Charles, said he would help me with homework,¡± I add.


    Mom turns back towards me, she scans me and studies me. She¡¯s looking for any flaw. I try not to give her any.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Mom states chipperly and smiles, ¡°Be careful, my sweet prince, and if you can¡¯t catch a bus, call me and I¡¯ll pick you up.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± I respond, ¡°And if your date doesn¡¯t go well, you can call me and I¡¯ll pick you up.¡± I attempt a joke.


    Mom laughs.


    ¡°Oh dear, trust me, it won¡¯t go poorly,¡±


    ¡°I am going to start my homework,¡± I am trying to get out of this conversation further. The thing is that I know Troy won¡¯t be able to convince me of anything he has to say, unless I test it out for myself. So I have devised a plan, if he really is a Phantom - so he says - stuck in a Human body. Then I can prove that with the Pen, couldn¡¯t I? I wonder if he is immortal? What happens if what he says isn¡¯t true? How am I going to deal with a dead police officer?


    Maybe I can provoke him. He seems like a short-tempered type of person. So it might not be that hard to press his buttons.


    I try not to make too much noise in my bedroom, so she doesn¡¯t know that I am looking around for anything out of place. I never believed my Mom to be someone who snoops, she has never done so before. I wonder why, now.


    Movement out of the corner of my eye, most likely the bookshelves being in my blind spot. Nothing seems out of place.


    All right time to work on what to do with Troy Holland. Also, what is the importance of the Order of the Exalted? Why is he so pressed and worried about them? Opening up my laptop:


    "Order of the Exalted,"


    Of course the first results that would come up would be the actual Order and the actual Oratories. I don''t know if I feel like diving that deep into this. The Order I know is some sort of Administration that is separate from the Humanist and Traditionalist Administrations, they are supposed to keep the Humanist Administration in check, but are now policing both the Humanist and Traditionalist. They are supposed to provide some mediator role within the Administrations. And they supposedly have Agents who work alongside Civilian Services to help with abnormal events. Which would make sense why the Order would be interested in the Karma situation. What doesn''t make sense is why the police care? When the old Director of the Police station was in charge most crime got ignored. This is irritating.

 Trista 13 - Midtown Park Apartments

    Ewg. Really. She signed me up for 2gether. Why am I even entertaining this idea? You know I keep asking myself this question and yet I haven¡¯t provided myself a solution yet on how to get out of it. My phone has notified me I have new messages on the 2gether app. I just got home too and now I have to please this Mortal undaughter of mine:


    ¡°I got messages,¡± I tell Lacie.


    ¡°Already!¡± Lacie sounds excited, why does this please her so much, ¡°Well, you have to read them.¡±


    ¡°I hope not out loud,¡±


    ¡°Heehee, only if you want to,¡±


    ¡°Daaad,¡± Lacie remarks, ¡°You can¡¯t say that you need to comfort her.¡±


    ¡°Its too late. I pressed the arrow already,¡±


    ¡°Dad,¡±


    ¡°What, it¡¯s dark humor,¡±


    "You''re being insensitive to this woman''s pain," Lacie crosses her arms.


    "I thought it was funny,"


    Lacie glares.


    "Fine I''ll fix it,"


    "I mean its better," Lacie responds, "We can wait for her response, she seems sweet and she may understand the misunderstanding."


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    "I like her, she sounds like she''s straightforward and knows what she wants," Lacie states now leaning over my shoulder, while we awkwardly stand in the front entrance looming over my phone dangerously close to death.


    "How do I respond?" I ask her since she has taken on the mediator role.


    "Naturally,"


    "That''s what I did the last time and you got mad," I bark.


    "Because you have to read the room,"


    "Oh good you read the room this time," Lacie tells me.


    "Report him," Lacie tells me.


    "So don''t respond?" I ask.


    "I mean you can,"


    "Sometimes it''s okay to assert our power for creeps," Lacie remarks.


    "And blocked, nice one Dad," Lacie smiles after pressing the block button on my phone, "I am proud of you."


    "You know this was actually kind of fun, I want to bully more creeps online," I tell her.


    "Okay, Dad, don''t become a vigilante,"


    "That reminds me, I am going out for a bit tonight-


    -where are you going?" Lacie asks curiously slipping off her shoes, placing them onto the shoe rack near the doorway, "Also make sure you charge your phone before you go out."


    "Meeting up with some old friends,"


    Lacie stares at me curiously.


    Yeah. Yeah I know his old friends don''t really like Troy. But I cannot tell her I am going to go meet up with the killer teenager they are investigating.


    "Do I have any nice clothes?" I ask.


    Lacie squints at me, "You have a date!"  wait, how did she jump from there to there?


    "Um, how do you figure-


    -you''re being really weird about this, nice clothes, going out, in the evening, after work, and you''re not really tell me what''s going on,"


    Er. I guess. I''ll play along.


    "You caught me red handed,"


    "Who?" Lacie asks me there is a glint in her eye. Her Aura is radiating.


    "....no one you know," I state.


    "I''ll figure it out sooner or later," she points to her eyes with her fingers and then points back at me.


    At least I think I got out of it for now. I am pretty much an accessory to Quinn''s crimes.

 Dear Reader: Moving, Apartments, Back to Regular Schedule

    Hello, everyone, as you can see I have missed a few chapters. And as per usual, I am always open and transparent about the going on in my real world person meat prison life. I am currently on the quest for a new apartment, this one isn''t serving my needs as someone who is disabled in America [can I get a woot]. So I have been searching for apartments, under a tight budget. Looking for affordable and not in a neighborhood I am going to die in as well. Because usually affordable means exploitation of the most vulnerable communities by chucking them into the most violent and criminal ridden parts of the community, hooray.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    I may have found an apartment I can move into and not die, so there may be a move in the future where I may miss a few releases then too while I get things squared away. Because that has been resolved for now, as I have had in the past, I will be getting four chapters up over the weekend, to make up for the lack of post. I will be posting two chapters this weekend on different days.

 Dear Reader: Update - About my Moving Situation

    Hello, turns out I did get the apartment. And so me and my gremlin agent will be moving in May. Give me about two weeks and I''ll get back to our regularly scheduled uploads. My manuscript Is complete, however, it always takes me a significant amount of work to edit these chapters. I make the graphics, I edit the chapters, and ask my fellow editing team to make sure everything is clear and concise. Editing a chapter, takes me up to something like 1 to 3 hours. If you''d like to help out with the move, to get the gremlin some litter and some other little moving things - perhaps you want to check out my Patreon linked in the doo-boo do ->


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Editing these chapters have always been a long and lengthy process on my part. And it isn''t free for me. :D of course you can always just support me by telling your friends about this awesome book. Or even just comment your favorite lines in previous chapters, or things you like. I''d love to hear your guy''s thoughts and speculations.  Also just giving me a little bit of patience to get back to my regular schedule always help.


    Thank you for continuing to support and read ADM.

 Dear Reader: Wonky Scheduling and thank you for your Patience

    All right, so a bit of an update on the whole moving thing. I haven''t Moved yet. But I will resume chapters of ADM, because you folks have waited so patiently for me. But here is the deal because I haven''t been given clear information about when I will be moved in, chapters will be coming out a bit weirdly. My schedule is going to be a bit bonkers. I will resume, likely, in June back to the three times a week. I will just be posting chapters weirdly the rest of this month, until move in date, and if I vanish or a chapter didn''t come out that week assume that''s what I am doing. Thank you for your continued patience. I do apologize. I haven''t been given a clear answer, so I haven''t been able to be clear myself.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

 Art Dump: Meet Trista, Quinn, Magi, Lacie, Florian, and Wolf

    Quentin "Quinn" Klaus - He/Him/They/Them - 17


    Olinda Klaus - She/Her - 39


    Trista - He/Him *Currently in the body of Troy Holland - Ageless/45


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Lacie Holland - She/Her - 26


    Florian Lysander - He/Him - 31


    Wolf - She/Her - 31


    Magi - He/Him - 22


    These are the first set of portraits I have for each character, the artwork is mixed media artwork. Digitally painted characters that have been months in the making, that I then added 3D elements like PNG vectors, and then used canva for the background. Affairs of Demons of Men is to resume officially this week, though my schedule is going to be strange until I move into my new apartment bare with me as I haven''t been given any clear information either. Hopefully, the art dump of my official art work for the cast will satisfy, plus the few chapters I can edit and squeeze out.


    If you''d like, you may ask the character questions in the comment section. And I''ll get to as many as I can if you do.

 ADM Recap

    A mysterious Celestial Artifact has landed in the Mortal Realm from the Celestial Realm. Stolen by a Phantom named Trista;


    Quinn: 17-year-old Quinn became the wielder of a Celestial Artifact. Using it to propel a new system of justice under the alias Karma. He has caught the attention of the Oakside Civilian Service Police. Who are currently investigating the actions of Karma. Quinn is currently trying to balance his own high school life and his newfound role as Karma.


    What has happened so far for Quinn:


    He¡¯s found a Celestial Artifact that he has learned helps him murder people without a trace


    He¡¯s currently planning to meet up with Trista, who is currently in the body of the Mortal Troy Holland, to hear out what he has to say


    Trista: The Phantom who stole the Celestial Artifact. Who lost the Artifact in a Seraphim¡¯s attempted retrieval. He has been requested by Eras to retrieve the Artifact. To do so, he has been sent to the Mortal Realm, bound to a Mortal Bond.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    What has happened so far for Trista/Troy:


    Trista has been asked by Eras to retrieve the Celestial Artifact that he lost in the Mortal Realm. He has been sent to the Mortal Realm to retrieve the artifact. And he¡¯s been placed in the body of Troy Holland.


    Troy Holland has been asked to help assist the Oakside Police Department to investigate the current mysterious deaths.


    On a routine investigation of a suicide in an apartment complex, Trista came upon the current holder of the Celestial Artifact. Quinn. Whom he has offered to help him aid in his endeavor as Karma


    Magi: The renowned Order of the Exalted Agent, known for solving strange and mysterious cases that no ordinary person could solve. He has been asked by Florian Lysander to help connect the mysterious murders in Oakside in order to determine whether they are freak accidents or organized.


    What has happened so far to Magi:


    Magi has been invited by Florian to investigate the current case involving a mysterious organization or individual named Karma who has been killing people with criminal pasts.


    Magi investigation at the penitentiary has led him to believe that there is more to the case than what they know. The investigation of Zoe¡¯s death has opened the window for the possibilities of more going on than just the surface information.


    And investigating a potential connection with a recent suicide, has had him to resign that other Realms and Mysticism are involved. Something he would rather deny.

 Quinn 25 - Oakside Downtown

    ¡°Here,¡± Mom hands me twenty, just before leaving the apartment, ¡°This should be enough for a drink and something to eat.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± that¡¯s what I have to say at first, then I smile and attempt to offer it back.


    There has to be a reasonable pause before saying, ¡°But don¡¯t you need it more?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to the Little Springs Cafe?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I respond.


    Then I laugh because I thought of something funny, ¡°Take a high schooler out for coffee on a school night.¡±


    I joke with her, but she only gives me a brief smile.


    ¡°Be safe,¡± she tells me shortly, ¡°I have to go. Do you want me to drive you?¡±


    ¡°Nope, I¡¯ll take the bus, don¡¯t want you to be late,¡±


    She merely nods and leaves before me, I guess I passed some sort of test. It¡¯s hard to determine what the test was, but I am only following the instructions that I have been told and given by her. I am wondering if I am only just going along with what other people have to say. This officer who supposedly is some kind of Phantom. I guess I also only do what my Mom says to do as well. If Karma is to be a bastion of the people, someone who implements justice. I think that if I want Troy to give me the truth; I need something to scare it out of him. I wonder if I could use the pen instead? I have his name and I know what he looks like. Wait, can I reverse the effects of the pen? Probably not, I¡¯ll probably write his name later in the night if I don¡¯t feel like he¡¯s giving me an appropriate answer. It¡¯s time I stop doing things people asked me to do and start making them do things I ask.


    Finally leaving the apartment, just waiting for my Mom to be gone before me. The hallway smells like chemicals and cleaner, large fans drown out any noise. They finally got to cleaning the apartment next door. And there has been gossip in the apartment complex of a beautiful golden blonde man investigating the apartment early today.


    I¡¯ve been eagerly waiting for the news to mention Zoe¡¯s death. Something Troy said he could get done. But hasn¡¯t. No one is talking about Karma, well, no one besides the Oakside Police Department.


    I was hoping people would start talking about Karma. Actual people, not the police. Instead, I am being investigated for no good reason. I guess I have to adjust my methods, it¡¯s not like I have done this before. I thought that seemingly unconnected events wouldn¡¯t catch too much attention, but I guess it did, and now I have to rally the people to stand with Karma and against the police.


    Having a cop, whether he is or isn¡¯t a Phantom, is going to be helpful. Right, all I need to do is pull his strings and use him before he attempts to use me because he thinks I am a na?ve teenager.


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    Stepping outside, nighttime in downtown feels different from daytime. Growing up here, I still notice the change. It¡¯s heavier, it feels blacker despite the orange streetlights. It always feels like there is someone standing over your shoulder or following you. The bar across the street is crowded as always. People spill out onto the streets and it¡¯s only 6 in the evening, it¡¯s going to get busier and busier over night. The buses stop running in the lower part of Oakside around 9. While the buses in the mid and upper parts of town run until 12.


    People downtown never think people are watching them, they don¡¯t even notice when people are watching them. And I am sure they don¡¯t feel the change in air. It¡¯s harder to breathe. Though that¡¯s not from any smog or pollution. It¡¯s hard to explain that the air is like static, it enters your lungs like dragging your feet along the carpet. And the static clings to your skin like sticky syrup. The hairs on your arms stick and cling onto each other. Shadows move from one patch of darkness to the next. While some cling to people.


    Heading to the bus stop, I cannot help but feel the police are hypocrites. I am watching a man who hasn¡¯t noticed me, watching a young woman in a tight sequin dress. It clings to her skin, exposing her shoulders and legs. He thinks he is being sly; he thinks no one notices him as he attempts to sneak a picture of her legs on his phone. There¡¯s a person the police could deal with, a pervert, who is so brazen enough to take pictures of a woman¡¯s legs in public because he knows he won¡¯t get caught. Why don¡¯t they do their actual job? What is justice to them? What do they define as justice?


    The man finally looks over at me, ¡°Bus is a bit late.¡± he attempts to evade the actual topic. He hopes I didn¡¯t notice.


    ¡°Is that why you take pictures of woman¡¯s legs instead? To pass the time?¡± I ask him, not afraid to confront him.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± the man huffs defensively, ¡°Don¡¯t go accusing people of shit they didn¡¯t do.¡±


    ¡°Darn, I should have taken a picture of you taking a picture,¡± I tell him.


    ¡°You keep talking to me like that kid-


    -you¡¯ll what? Because I am so scared of a cowardice pervert,¡± I tell him.


    The bus arrives before he can respond. He grabs a backpack that¡¯s been resting on the side of the bench. An idea has popped up into my head. She¡¯s probably not the first woman he¡¯s taken a photo of before. I just wait for him to get on the bus before me. His backpack is so full of textbooks, and other things. He has to wrestle with the side pocket of the backpack to take out his wallet to get out his bus pass.


    ¡°How¡¯s your class been going?¡± the driver asks him, while he puts his wallet back distractedly.


    The driver is right there. And he¡¯s standing right in front of me. There¡¯s a rush of excitement, at least I think that¡¯s what this feeling is. I reach for the side pocket. My hands touch the tip of the wallet;


    ¡°Oh, you know, I am not breaking a sweat,¡± the pervert responds.


    I tug slowly to slip the wallet out of the side pocket. Once it comes out of the pocket, there¡¯s a moment of waiting. Did anyone notice?


    ¡°Hahaha, right big old genius you are,¡± the driver states, ¡°Well, it¡¯s good seeing you, Alex.¡±


    Quickly shoving the wallet into the pocket of my windbreaker, no one noticed me. The bus driver looks at me, ¡°Hey Quinn.¡±


    ¡°Oh, hi, Jacob,¡± I respond with a smile.


    ¡°How is your evening going?¡± he asks me.


    ¡°Fine, yours?¡±


    ¡°You know, working that grind,¡± Jacob laughs.


    I merely nod with a polite smile. I took a man¡¯s wallet with no one noticing. What do I do with it, anyway? I cannot return it. And is petty negative actions really who Karma wants to focus attention on? I don¡¯t know.