Vira stood in the hallway, before an apartment door, dressed in her fake government agent suit.
"Unit thirteen?" she asked, with fingers to her ear, magic carrying her voice through to Dr. Clarkson's phone.
"Yes," Gabriel said, oblivious to the magic at work—thinking this was no more than a simple phone call.
"Let's hope he is here this time," the fairy muttered.
Spencer Kane was harder to find than she had imagined. His eccentric nature had awakened a paranoia that led him to change five addresses over the past year alone. They had been following his trail for a week now.
"It has to be it," the doctor said, though her tone wavered with doubt.
"Thank you for your help, Doctor."
"Of course… let me know if—"
Vira cut the connection, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. "Mr. Kane, are you in there?"
There was silence, then a weak thud, then more silence.
That was him, she smirked in triumph. "Mr. Kane, I know you are in there. It is important that I speak to you; this is a matter of national security."
More silence, but she could see his shadow over the peephole.
"If you won't open the door, I'll have to force my way in."
"A little shrimp like you?" he said through the door, his voice gravelly. "Ha! I doubt it."
"I assure you, I am stronger than I look," she crossed her arms.
"Let me see your warrant."
"I don't have a warrant."
"Then, show me your badge."
She did as he asked. "My name is Vira Starfield, Special Investigations Division, and I really need to speak to you."
He scoffed. "Well, Agent Starfield, from the Special Investigations Division, if you force your way into my house without a warrant, I'll sue you, your boss, and your entire department!"
"Mr. Kane, this is important!"
"You know what's important? Civil—fucking—liberties; that's what's important!"
She groaned and rolled her eyes. She should have known he would be difficult. "People are dying, Mr. Kane. I need your help."
He laughed. "If it is really so important, then you should have no problem getting a goddamn warrant."
She pursed her lips. She could fabricate a warrant through her magic, but she imagined that to fool him, she'd have to make it believable too, and getting that legal knowledge to forge something believable would take time.
Maybe there is a better way to play this, she thought. "A warrant implies there would be a record of our conversation, Mr. Kane… there wouldn't be."
He went quiet for a long moment, considering, then cursed under his breath. "You can force your way in, but you won't get me to talk."
She hesitated, then stated confidently: "Oh, yes, I will."
He unlocked the door and opened it just a crack, as it was still chained. "How? Torture? Truth serum?" The face that peeked through was gray-haired, unshaven, and slightly wrinkled.
"Telepathy," she said without humor.
He scoffed, then frowned as he realized she was serious. Without saying another word, he closed the door and unlatched the chain. "I'm not inviting you in, if that's what you are waiting for…" he said pointedly.
I'm not a vampire, she pouted, offended by the implication, and walked in.
The apartment was small and crowded with stacks of books and manuscripts. A single overloaded bookcase was up against the wall to Vira's right as she walked into the lounge, and to her left, there was a desk cluttered with unbound paper and an old typewriter.
Spencer sat down at his desk and gestured behind her toward the couch. She moved a stack of books aside and sat down.
"Go on, then," he crossed his arms.
"Mr. Kane, I'm here to talk to you about—"
"Nuh-uh, no talking," he wagged his finger. "You said telepathy, and unless you were joking, you better get out your syringe or take me to your torture chamber, because you ain't getting shit outta me."
She huffed, exasperated, and began channeling her power.
Mr. Kane, if you would please just listen—
"Holy fuck," his eyes went wide, and he shot to his feet. "How did you… how did you do that?"
Mr. Kane—
"It's some sort of trick," he started walking around the room, searching under the desk, inside the books. "You snuck in when I was out, hid speakers—"
This is no trick, I assure you.
He covered his ears, shoving his fingers deep inside. "Say that again."
Vira's hands tightened into fists. This is no trick.
"Inconceivable," he said in stunned amazement and took his fingers out. "Are you an ESP-er? A psychic? Are you even human?"
Impatient—is what I am, Mr. Kane. Now, it's time you sat down and started answering my questions, or I'll… she paused for a short moment, thinking of an appropriate punishment, then grinned as it came to her. Or I'll erase our encounter from your mind the moment I leave, and you'll forget you ever saw me.
Spencer Kane lifted his hand. "Whoa, whoa, let's not do anything rash, Agent Starfield." He slowly made his way back to his chair and sat down.
The 'Omen of Death', she sent, and noticed him frowning in recognition. Tell me everything you know about it.
"Okay," he nodded. "Where would you like me to start?"
These people, how do they get the mark? Who is giving it to them?
"Well, isn't that the billion-yen, million-dollar question?" He smiled.
You don't know?
He leaned back, scratching his stubbled chin, his tone becoming more theatrical. "Here's what I know: people with the mark of the Omen often find themselves killed by one disaster or another along with those around them—sometimes due to a tragedy of their own making, other times due to natural causes. What we don't know is whether they are willing participants, or if they're cursed, or maybe both—a bait and switch—they agree to something, not knowing what terrible consequences they are bringing upon themselves and others."
Vira frowned. Then, you don't know anymore than I do…
"Perhaps," he got up and walked over to the bookcase, pulling out a book. "But there is one question you haven't asked yet." He opened the book, which was hollow inside, and dug out a phone, then opened another and dug out a battery.
Which is?
"What do all these people have in common?"
The mark of the Omen…
"Yes, but before that, what did they have in common? There are several whose identities we know," he put the phone back together and turned it on while fishing a piece of paper out of his desk and handing it over to the fairy.
She looked at the short list of names; under each was noted their occupation, age, sex, and marital status.
"They were all single," he said. "All men."
The fairy godmother felt a chill go down her spine.
"And based on their socials online, I believe they were all at one point or another associated with this website," he held the phone to show her.
G.I.?
"It stands for 'Genetically Inferior', a website with forums and live chat servers, frequented mainly by men who believe that, due to genetic factors such as ugliness, lack of intelligence, or deficient social skills, they are simply unable to 'attract the females'—as they put it. They claim that the rules of society are rigged against them and that they are doomed to be alone forever."
Oathless… Vira thought, this time to herself, frowning.
"One of those involved with the Omen supposedly left a manifesto on the forum… or maybe I should call it a suicide note," he scrolled through the phone, pulling it up, then showed it to her.
This world is broken, it read. In this society, women have the upper hand, the absolute advantage, and even the ugliest, fattest, bitchiest female is more desirable than the average dude—it's messed up.
We, guys, have to fight for our value, or we are seen as worthless and expendable, as nothing, and no one gives a shit what happens to us. At least in the past, we only had to fight other men for value, but now we have to compete with women too—how emasculating is that?
Some men can get their shit together, sure, but that's only because they had the luck to be born with S-tier genes, and we plebs don't even stand a chance against them.
I'm tired of it, bros. Tired of this world, tired of this life, and I've decided that tomorrow I'm finally gonna put an end to it. I'm moving on to the next life, to live Happily Ever After… With the woman of my dreams.
Vira's lips parted, and her hands began shaking as these final words echoed in her mind. She handed the phone back.
"The morning after this message was sent, an elevator in an old office building had a malfunction, and six people died as it crashed. Security footage caught a man entering the elevator only seconds earlier, with the Omen of Death marked on the back of his hand," he scrolled through his phone again. "It leaked, then was taken down, which only made the conspiracy seem more credible, but you know how the internet is; nothing is ever gone for good… I'm sure I have a link somewhere—"
There's no need, Mr. Kane; I've seen enough.
Spencer lifted his head, noting how distressed she seemed, then turned off his phone and ejected the battery. "So, what are you going to do about it, Agent?"
The fairy didn't answer. She was asking herself the same question.
"Isn't this what you do in 'Special Investigations Division'?" he asked as he put the books back on the shelf. "Find paranormal criminals and put them to supernatural justice?"
She pursed her lips. This sorceress—this witch—was using Oathless to do her bidding, promising them everything they wanted in return for their cooperation… but knowing all of that didn't give Vira the slightest clue as to how to stop her. She could try tracking her, but even then, she couldn't fight her alone. I must contact Aqwyn, she rose to her feet. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Kane," she made her way out of the apartment.
"Pleasure is all mine, Agent," he said as she went out the door.
At least I don't have to worry about Kai, she thought as she stepped into the street, smirking at the irony, despite the dire situation. Not as long as he has Maria.