Saturday, July 6, 2013

I'm Magic - Author Fairview - Part 3

I'm Magic - Fairview

Official Journal: file #---7. Part 3

    6:00 PM... that's a good time for acoustic punk... going to go with some Man Overboard.

    I had my iPod hooked up to an alarm clock; it played a song of my choosing instead of making that horrible buzzing noise that I hated so much. Though I would hate waking up at 6:00, I would enjoy some of my favorite bands. That was the idea, anyway. Whatever.

    I'd been working for this Aquila bro for a sum total of 2 weeks. I had my own room, a change of clothes, and I got the only non-shared bathroom in the place. The walls were the same blue color as in the sickroom, and there was one window leading to a rusted fire escape, which connected to the roof. There also was a black door; I had no idea where it led or what was inside, as it was locked. All in all, the accommodations were satisfying and comfortable. Pretty decent pay too; at least enough to cover my meager expenses. The downside was getting up at 6:00AM.

    Also the part where a drunk guy put a hole in my shoulder with a knife. It's healed by now, but I'm hoping that getting stabbed isn't the norm. With my luck, well, you never know.

    I turned of the light and fell to sleep immediately. I dreamed of nothing.

-6:00 AM, Tuesday-
    “I understand how it works, on paper, we're similar people. But we're different people, we're different people”

    I awoke to the sad, slow strains of Man Overboard, and I turned off the iPod. I had barely gotten dressed, (typical black skinny jeans and a striped black and gray 'V' neck T-Shirt) when Aquila opened my door without knocking.
“You nearly ready to leave, Fairview?”

    “Yeah man, hang on.” I slid on my beat-up Converse All Stars (Vintage 1999!) and started to walk out of the room. He put his hand on my shoulder and stopped me before I had cleared the threshold.
“You're forgetting something.”

    “Yeah? What's that?”

    Aquila smirked. “Your weapon. We heard you have a bit of training in that area and have a couple weapons for you to choose from. The Department of Operations has been particularly generous in your case; they were quite... intrigued... by your abilities and did not want such an... opportunistic asset to be lost.” He then unlocked the black door. Apparently I'd earned access to this for doing... something. I had no idea.
It was an Operation Room. There was a map of the city on the wall, a computer, a file cabinet labeled “Case Files” and on the wall hung a bulletproof tactical vest. There were slots for magazine pouches, but no pouches had been attached. I had yet to choose my weapon.
    “We have a couple things here. You can have an MP9 with a silencer, folding stock, and EoTech optic with 3x Magnification. Or you can have a PP2000 with the same loadout. Up to you.” I chose the MP9. Aquila then handed me a thick black hoodie with a skull and crossbones encircled by a white ring emblazoned across the front.

    “While I find your enjoyment of all things punk somewhat distasteful, we have this for you. The MP9 will fit inside of it here-” he gestured towards a carrying strap on the inside- “and it will be invisible, for the most part. If you are stupid with the weapon, it will be revoked, understand?” He pulled the weapon out of his trench coat and handed it to me. It went into the jacket, which I put on overtop the tac-vest. Not too uncomfortable.
“Yeah, gotcha dude. What do you want me to do today?”

    “You're going back to where you were stabbed and you're going to figure out what did it. We are nearly certain it wasn't a man. No man moves like he did. Far too fast. Not very coordinated, but fast. There's a van waiting. Have fun.” Ivan wasn't big on details. That's fine, I needed freedom anyway. I was getting tired of sitting in on psych analysis and telling people their own secrets about themselves.
About ten minutes later, I was sitting on a bench across the street from the spot where I was stabbed. Just watching, just feeling the place. It was sunny, but cold. The white face of an apartment complex across the street glared sharply, directly contrasting the gray pallor of the buildings adjacent. The black tinted windows reflected the surrounding urban landscape. It was one of those mornings, humid and cold, which certainly meant that the day would be either oppressively hot, or stormy. Or both.

    The most interesting thing I'd felt from anyone all day was from a passing businessman, who I somehow knew was completely straight but really enjoyed wearing dresses and skirts and makeup. If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that people are weird. Whatever, man.

    At about 8:30, I looked at the roof of the white apartment. There was a man on top of it. That's odd... he seems to be looking directly at me, though I can't see his face... He turned and walked away, out of my view. Gotta check this out... I walked across the street and into the building, took an elevator to the roof and looked around. I stepped onto the gravel that covered the roof and quickly walked the perimeter. Nobody. Ugh, why does this have to be so hard. I could feel the telltale darkness that signified an evil spirit. Looks like I was hunting either a possessed man, a demon, or something else entirely. Fun times. Suddenly the presence intensified, like a blow to the body.

    Except it was, actually, a blow to my body.

    I felt myself falling forward before I even knew what to do. I tucked and rolled, and came up facing the man who had stabbed me. He spoke, but this time it was not slurred, nor was it coarse. It was pristine and low, contrasting sharply with his bedraggled appearance.
“Hi there. So sorry you survived that last encounter. Seemed a policeman was just around the corner and he didn't enjoy my stabbing you. I had to leave our little party, but now we're together again and it's time for some fun.”

    “You bastard.” I pulled out my MP9 and lined him up. “Don't move, man, or the last thing to go through your mind will be a 9 Millimeter, Full Metal Jacket slug.”

    “Go ahead! Shoot me. It'll be so much fun knowing you've killed an innocent drunk, and loosed me from my container. Seriously, do it.”

    “You're bluffing.” He had to be. No way could he just go and inhabit someone else. He had to have an opening into their mind. That was hard to get.

    “Find out, fool.” He spat at me.


    And I spat two bullets straight through his shoulder. He shuffled backwards but made no noise. The white gravel crunched against his feet and glared in the sun. A gust of hot wind ruffled my hair. Traffic continued on the road below.

    Nothing. Damn!

    Pchik- One through the calf. He hit the dirt with a crunch. Good, he's immobilized.

    But the demon felt none of the pain his man experienced. He seemed to be slowing the bleeding somehow, as well... interesting. “That was for the knife wound, dude. You wanna play this game? I'm not a regular cop and I certainly won't hesitate to get your 'container' locked up forever for threatening me. That would be pretty unfortunate, you'd be forced to leave him. But you can't, can you? Or you'd have left him here to bleed out already” Now it was my turn to run things. If I killed him, he'd die too- or be sent somewhere less desirable. “You have to get your container there in for some medical attention. But I don't see you leaving me anytime soon. So we're going to do something about that...” I picked up my phone and called Ivan. “Yo dude, I got us a suspect. We're going to need the house doctor in the van, he's hit. Once in the calf, twice in the shoulder. Do you copy, over?”

    “Copy that.” was Ivan's only reply.
I sat there with the demon for about 10 minutes. He said nothing. Finally Harrow and the doctor popped out of the elevator with a folding stretcher.

    “Wow, Fairview, first field case and you shoot the poor guy.” said Harrow. She pulled out a stun gun and immediately stunned the demon with it, incapacitating him entirely.

    “I see you have no qualms about sending 200,000 volts through a downed man.”

    “Just help me get him onto the stretcher.” We lifted his now unconscious container/body on, and the doctor tied a tourniquet around his leg and bound his shoulder. 10 minutes later we were back at the Facility, and the demon was in the holding cell.


    “So... this is, what, exactly?” Scout asked. She had stood and watched him sit in the cell for about 20 minutes, without saying anything. The demon had been trying to break the bars of the cell and screaming loudly- we eventually needed to give him sedatives so that the shell he contained couldn't physically act the way the demon wanted him to. 

    “It's a possessed man. Except with a twist; this guy is his permanent container. The demon literally can't leave him. I wouldn't be surprised if he's over 200 years old- the demon kept him from bleeding out when I shot him.”

    “You shot him?”

     “Um, yeah, it was sorta required. I don't screw around with these guys. They live for control. I'm supposed to interrogate him, wanna watch? Could be interesting.”

    “Yeah, okay.” She said. Cool. I like audiences, and I assume he does too. Should make it more interesting. I slammed the bars of the 10 by 10 holding cell.

    “Up! Now! Get up! … Sit down at the table, okay?” I yelled at the demon. I entered the cage and locked it behind me. I wasn't particularly afraid- Scout was right behind me, and she was armed. I sat down opposite him. “What's your name, dude.”

    “Alex.” He said plainly.

    “Okay, Alex. I've got a few things to ask you really fast, so listen up and we'll get this over really fast, okay? You got that?” He mumbled some incomprehensible gibberish. “HEY.” WHAM! I slammed table with my fist, about 2 inches from his face. “I'm not playing games here! You need to get something straight here- you have no rights. None. At all. There are no laws on the books that deal with the treatment of Spirits. I freaking own you, got it? That's why I shot you, and that's why I'll do it again if I don't get what I want. You can make this easy or hard. But we are NOT starting out like this, got it?”


    “Great!” I smiled and quit Bad Cop mode right away. “So what are you doing here, Alex? Why are you in Deinsport, and how did you get into that body?”

    “Shit, man. You're dense. This isn't a body. It's a shell. It's a container. I was trapped in it forever exactly 234 years ago, to the day. It's not real. Yeah, it has the physical functions and limitations of a human, but I don't feel pain and I don't decay. I can also heal it very quickly on my own. That's why I barely bled and wasn't hurt when you shot me, and it's why hurting me will do nothing.” He was arrogant. Good. He was also stupid. Not surprising.

    “Great, man. Just great. Why are you here?”

    “I thought I'd have a nice vacation, you know. See the sights-” Thwack! I punched him right in the face. He didn't blink but he looked surprised.

    “Remember the part where you don't screw with me? Granted, that didn't hurt, but I could break your legs and then you'd have a whole lot of fun not doing anything until that healed.”

    “I came here on a whim. That's it. Break my legs, or my face, or whatever. I'm sticking to that. As for attacking you, I knew you'd know what I was and do something about it. Didn't want to take the chance. As it turns out, you did anyway and so here we are. A fun time has been had by all. Now let me go.”

    I needed one more thing. This guy was useless. Just a run of the mill demon in a shell. His body would be more use to us dead. “How did you get into that shell?”

    “Darker forces than myself put me here.”

    “And what happens when your shell is fatally wounded?” Here we go...

    “Yeah, my spirit is banished back to where I came from. Hell.” Perfect.

    “One last thing, Alex.” I said. I put my hands on the pistol grip of the MP9.


    “Go to Hell. Literally.” I pulled out the MP9. His eyes and expression didn't change as I lined up a point blank shot and pulled the trigger.


    Blood spurted out the back of his head and the new third eye in the middle of his forehead. Alex collapsed across the desk, but he bled no more. His body started to disintegrate into a pile of dust. Fascinating. Scout stared at me, looking somewhat confused. 

    “You just... kill him? No more questions, nothing?”

    “That was a demon. He has no right to life, and he had no information for me. Besides, he's not even dead. He's back in Hell where he belongs. Ivan gave me the go ahead to do whatever I liked with him. I did.”

    “So, he's just gone?”

    “Yep. But a bigger question remains. How many more of these shells are there? I don't know. But we're going to want to run some tests on this dust. Figure out what it is, maybe we figure out who created him. Get Harrow. She's going to want to see this.” Scout left, and I left the cage. I had to figure out who made this guy. No way he knew. I read that much from him before I finished him off. As far as killing the demon went, well... I felt nothing.

    Ugh, this damn city.

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