(Edited with Grammarly on 9/24/2026)
The door slamming shut behind Albert almost felt deafening to his ears, the boom echoing through the eerie hall that instantly made him believe that this would be prime real estate for some ax murderer or wronged ghost of an actress to call their own. Each of them took the time to fold their umbrella and shake it off to the side.
"I wonder if they'll let us use this place to film." Marceline froze in the middle of the hall, overlapping her fingers together to form a sort of rectangular frame as if she was taking a photo or recording a scene. "Maybe have me down the hall with a wig covering my face, wearing a ratty white dress covered in blood near my stomach. I can even peek my head out of the doorway there."
"What if instead, it's me, a large burly machete or...no sledgehammer murderer with a smashed-in safety helmet? I think that sounds way scarier than just another ghost girl; besides, aren't those overdone enough?"
"You take that back, you heathen!"
"Now, now." Angeline slithered forward with that all-too-familiar condescending but polite smile stretched across her face. Probably something she learned how to do from her mother. "You're both wrong here. We already got ghost girls. And masked, burly men as slashers is literally a stereotype. What we need is something different. We need a blonde psycho killer, someone who has all the strength of a slasher but in the form of an easily underestimated blonde….I'll-I'll be willing to put on a valley girl accent."
"What are you chinning about?" Olivia took a noticeable step away from the trio, taking up right beside the massive fighter and seeming to put him between them and her. "If you lot think I'll go along while you crazies are yapping on about murderers or ghost girls, you gotta another thing coming!"
"It's a movie." Albert knew the girl didn't really like him all that much given how things went last time, but he honestly felt like he was the only one who could explain without making things worse. "They're horror movie buffs, and they've...well, we've been planning to make a short horror film for a while now. But it's been those three arguing who would make the better slasher."
"Ain't that a bunch of-" But she paused, biting her own tongue as she actually began to look around the rundown theater. "Never mind, I can see it...What are you going to do for costumes? It don't matter which one of them is the 'slasher' if your costume ain't the bee's knees."
"Are you offering?" The brown-haired girl slithered back, smiling all innocently as if she wasn't aware of the sheer amount of work she was piling on the preteen's shoulders. "Cuz, if you are, I'll make you head of the costume department! We got Steve, our leading artist, and Albert working on special effects, Albert again on camera and... Well, that's it for now, so there's gonna be a lot of open spots."
"How much dough are we talking about?" The seamstress snapped back, holding up her fingers and rubbing them together. "I ain't gonna be no one's patsy, and I don't know no meager amount either. Fabric is expensive and my time is equally so! Babe, you better start talking, Jack, or I'm just gonna think you're just trying to pull a grift!"
Instead of replying instantly, all eyes turned to the small girl at Angeline's side. She could only sigh under the weight before speaking up.
"She basically means, how much are you willing to pay her? And that she isn't going to work for free."
"S-she's getting paid?" Steve whispered jokingly, probably thinking it was a lot quieter than it actually was, but given the wide space, his words just seemed to bounce around and echo. Only for his cheeks to grow flush as soon as all eyes fell on him. "O-of course she is! It's m-might just be a p-passion project for us, b-but as s-she said, fabric is e-expensive...And honestly, I-I would appreciate p-people chipping in on s-supplies too…Not t-that I d-don't want to do m-myself, but higher q-quality paint is g-going to be expensive. E-especially if we're d-doing multiple takes."
"Michael is our budget manager! Take it up with him!"
"We have a budget?!"
That in itself was enough to defuse the rising tension, the play-by-play acting as the final trigger to finally cause the walls between them all to come tumbling down. They laughed, a short chortle at first, but it soon spread. Infecting each of them like a virus until everyone was at least grinning widely. The action worked to drown out the nearly suffocating air that seemed to permeate the decrepit hall they'd all found themselves in.
Even Albert could feel his tense shoulders loosening, at least until the barely lit overhead lights suddenly bloomed to full power. Nearly blinding him as the place tried its best to sear out his retinas, leaving him with large blurry spots in his vision while he rapidly blinked away the fresh tears streaming down his cheeks.
"W-what in the w-world…?" The artist was the first to shake off the sudden flash-bang, his voice sounding both confused and mesmerized.
"Huh." Olivia joined in, and even through his sudden blindness, it was easy to imagine the young girl rubbing her chin as she turned every which way. "Now, this is my kind of joint."
Rubbing rapidly at his eyes, the PI finally got a good look at what exactly they were talking about, and the mere fact of it made it feel like his stomach had fallen out from underneath him.
In place of the, frankly, haunted-looking interior with busted old lights, long abandoned light boxes that had more dust and grime on them that even trying to flick any of them one would surely be a fire hazard, and even a floor covered in debris with a series of mysterious piles of dried feces, was an entirely different sight. The room seemed to have gone through a sudden makeover. With a bright red carpet under their feet, all the lining light boxes suddenly filled with two figures in a variety of poses. Sometimes it was of them with their backs together; other times it was of the black-haired girl standing with arms outstretched at the man, who seemed to levitate behind her. Each poster held a different scene, each showcasing some form of magical feat so grand that it had to be fake.
Combine that with the smell of old blankets and mildew being swept away under the neutral scent of freshly cleaned carpet. Even the frigid night air had been beaten back with a club and replaced by a pleasant warmth that even made him begin to feel a bit stuffy in his trench coat.
"I guess it looks better with the lights on?" Michael commented as he visibly eyed the nearby poster, taking special interest in the dark-haired girl frozen inside. "Do you think they're looking for workers? If it's this well maintained, there's gotta be a cleaning crew or something coming through here at least once a week."
"Is...is that popcorn?" Dillon sniffed loudly, her feet carrying her forward as she swayed deeper into the building. And now that she mentioned it, that buttery, intoxicating smell injected itself directly into his nostrils. But she soon froze in place, turning her head to face the group as large. Her cheeks growing a few shades redder and her voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. "I-I don't need it, we can j-"
"It's a night out." Malcolm took a few steps forward, placing a massive hand on her head and ruffling her short locks. A warm grin stretched across his face as he too began to sniff loudly. "Besides, it's been a long time since we had some...Extra butter, right, you two?"
"I hope they have something to drink too." Michael too followed behind them, yawning loudly as he finally wrenched his gaze away from the posters. "I could use something hot; do you think they sell hot chocolate?"
With that, a majority of the group trickled further into the building. Leaving a trio who all sent each other looks. Well, it was more the two magical newbies sending the medium confused looks. In comparison, Marceline appeared far too smug as she motioned towards the area.
"Welcome to my world."
Bowing once more theatrically, she skipped off to follow the procession of guests, and after sending a cautious shrug his way, the blonde followed.
Albert wanted to do the same...No, who was he kidding? He didn't. What he wanted to do was turn around right then and forget all this ever happened. He knew what he saw, knew the place had been an actual hazard the moment they stepped in. It might've been dark, but it was nearly dark enough to cover up a fully renovated classic theater. So that raised the question: was that an illusion?
Or was this an illusion?
His fingers reached out, grazing one of the exposed bulbs of one of many light boxes, instantly feeling the heat suffuse his body. That should've been proof that all this was real...but what if these Magi were so skilled in crafting illusions that it tricked him into believing both light and heat were coming from this bulb?
[SAN: 21/47]
And if that was the case, then was he even truly there? Or were they all standing near the door, frozen in place with dumb smiles stretched across their faces. Drool dribbling down their chins as they giggled and laughed into an abandoned building. And that would be the best-case scenario, getting a cold from the drafty building.
Worst-case scenario, this magic show had been a ruse to collect as many people as possible and sacrifice them for some grand ritual. Or maybe it was a scheme to harvest their organs.
But would someone be dumb enough to plaster the faces of both a council member of this mysterious and apparently quite powerful magic organization and his daughter? He didn't know a lot about this magical world, but it seemed like a pretty stupid idea. So in that case, it had to be legit.
'And why would someone as powerful as those two need human sacrifices?'
He hadn't been too involved with the Zatanas as characters, but he knew they were some of the strongest Homo-Magi in the entire verse. Especially since Giovanni had a Lord of Order nearly salivating at the mouth, trying to figure out some way to get him as a host.
And frankly, the pair were known good guys. Members of the Justice League and hopefully not really prone to sacrificing people for magic.
With that said, it brought up an even more earth-shattering idea.
'What...what if this isn't an illusion?'
If these people were powerful enough to completely repair a building, fill it with so much life and care in the split instance it took for them to close their eyes...It was simply a power he couldn't possibly comprehend fully.
From his own memories, a mage from Call of Cthulhu and Pulp Cthulhu could never do something like this. And even if they could, it would require a giant heap of human sacrifices all singing the hymns and praises of creatures from beyond.
This was true magic. Real magic. Not the subtle stuff Marceline had been doing, not the mentions of the Veil or even the weird divining rods that clerk had been using. It honestly made what he did with Psychometry feel like nothing more than a parlor trick.
An insurmountable gulf opened up before him; the sheer difference in power and potential was enough for his own gut to bubble with a bone-deep...jealousy? Envy? No, it was something more. Dread, maybe. And if he was being honest with himself, a very unhealthy dose of envy.
Investigators already had to fight tooth and nail to just barely hedge out an advantage against mages in the tabletop game, but against something like this? He had to hope this wasn't the average level of power every single Homo-Magi possessed, or he would really have no choice but to flee while hoping they would see him as too much of a small-fry to really pursue him.
'Not tonight.' He tried to shake off this innate sense of powerlessness, trying to immerse himself back into how novel and fun everything initially felt. Evening forcing a small half smile on his face felt so forced that he was sure it probably looked more like a grimace. But just a glance in a nearby reflection was enough for him to drop it a moment later. '...Maybe not probably.'
***
"Is...is that what you're seriously wearing?"
"What?" Maybe Albert came across a bit too snappy as he looked himself over. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with what he was wearing. Underneath his trusty trench coat, he wore a simple long-sleeved faded graphic T-shirt that was probably, maybe once, a picture of the Earth. But now, it was nothing more than a few spatters of faded blue flakes sticking stubbornly to his green shirt. Matching the rather average-looking jeans that he needed to pull tightly on the belt to keep them from drooping off his narrow hips. All in all, it was a comfy outfit that he would normally wear walking around Gotham and meeting with his clients. "What's wrong with it?"
"Dude." Marceline looked anything but pleased, and perhaps a bit anxious as she began to peer around the slowly filling theater room before dropping her tone to a near hiss. "Do you remember what I told you?"
"They're not dirty."
"But they're not 'semi-decent'." She dropped her head in her hands, receiving a few consolatory slaps on the back. "Oh my god...I can't believe you did this!"
"But you literally said that people walked in one of these shows naked before-" Instead of continuing his rebuttal, he decided to actually look around at their section of seats. Almost instantly spotting the issue. Underneath their coats, one and all were wearing some form of formal attire. Not full-on suits and ball gowns, but at least a polo here and dress pants to match. Even glancing at the people slowly trickling in, he noticed all of them were wearing business casual clothes at the bare minimum. Well, no, that was a lie; he did see a single person slipping in from behind a large group who appeared to be wearing jeans that were noticeably cut unevenly at the knees and a bright tie-dyed shirt that billowed out and over a majority of their body. In all honesty, they were probably at the same level of attire, but THEY weren't getting chewed out for it. No...that's not fair; he'd clearly underdressed here. It was just supposed to be a magic show, something that was commonly done in the dark. Meaning, it wouldn't make any sense to dress up beyond this point. It wasn't like he would be directly interacting with the councilman either. His daughter maybe, but the PI could always just put the trench coat back on and still be presentable. "Okay, I get it. Sorry. I underdressed here. Look, I'll just keep my coat on, and no one will know."
"I'll know…" The medium mumbled, slumping further into herself as she repeatedly bounced her forehead off the back of the empty theater chair directly in front of them. "No, it'll be fine. Just...yeah, keep the coat on, and everything should work out, right? Right?"
"Uh-yeah…" Angeline didn't really sound too convinced as her friend almost had a mental breakdown beside them. "It'll be fine!"
"Gimme that…" Reaching over, the brunette shoved her hand deep into the red and white carnival box and scooped out a 'giant' handful of popcorn, completely uncaring of the dribbles of butter running down her arm as she nervously popped one into her mouth at an ever-increasing rate.
A few moments passed in silence as the theater slowly grew louder and louder under the stream of people before Malcolm murmured under his breath beside him.
"I was going to wear my work clothes," The giant pulled at his light tan polo shirt. "But then Liv took one look at it and marched me back to my room to change, while giving me such a harsh tongue-lashing that I thought I was back at the orphanage...So, uh, don't feel too bad about it. I didn't know a magic show warranted dressing up."
He wanted to thank the man, but just before the words left his lips, the already dim lights overhead almost winked completely out, and the massive, bright red stage curtains billowed in from an unknown breeze. Along with that, the music slowly petered out until it was nothing more than barely audible background noise. Whether it was through magic or just classic theater techniques, he felt his attention drawn to the stage.
Pushing open the curtains, a young girl, maybe in her late teens to early twenties, with long and thick glossy black hair that fell from her tailcoat-clad shoulders. She wore a bright white button-up shirt and an equally pale bow-tie tied snugly against her neck. Ending off with a pitch-black leotard and fishnet stockings. Her lips, painted in bright red, stretched into a wide, welcoming smile to showcase rows of pearly white teeth. Those large, blue eyes, rimmed with a light application of mascara, scanned the room. Seeming to lock gazes with everyone there, who all seemed to hold on with bated breath, showing each of them the careful attention of a host.
Her expression seemed so natural as well, at least until she landed on him. He could feel it then, see her smile grow stiff and see the way her well-styled brows furrow. Normally, all that combined wasn't new at all. It was just how people normally looked when first meeting him, so he'd grown more accustomed to it. No, the momentary flash of...was that disdain?
She seemed to catch herself and continued to glance around at the crowd with a far less forced smile. The moment seemed to leave her mind just as quickly as it appeared, but that wasn't the case for Albert.
He could feel a cold ball of lead sink in his stomach, making him feel as though he was ready to vomit. Being dismissed so quickly shouldn't have hurt so badly; he should've long since grown immune to disdainful looks being sent his way. He knew he was no prize. The whole 'Ghoul' debacle was more than enough proof of that.
Despite that, it felt like someone had thrown an icy spear through his chest before gripping its handle and churning it about like a ladle in soup. Triggering that innate urge to just curl into himself like a bug, wanting nothing more than to walk- no, run- away from this place.
He should've long since grown used to it already, and it wasn't even like this was the first time either. Hell, Angeline had given him that exact same look when they'd first met. So if that was the case, then why did it hurt so badly?
'She's the first canon character to look at me like that.'
The answer came crawling up from the abyss, unwarranted and undesired in all ways. The truth always hurt, and this one was no exception. As ever since he came into this world, there were plenty of attractive women who all didn't really seem too bothered by his appearance. Random people his own age seemed to have a visceral reaction, but so far, no canon characters had ever reacted in such a way. Harley and Ivy didn't really seem to care about what he looked like, and despite Barbara having alternative motives for approaching him, even she didn't honestly seem to mind.
That fact, he could admit, had inflated his own ego. Made him believe that since it was only the random background 'NPCs' that found him repulsive, then it was okay to make the assumption that it was simply them being shallow. And even further down, he fooled himself into believing that maybe APP truly was a dumb stat simply because which named character would truly care about looks?
But now, that illusion had been shattered into millions of pieces.
Forcing him to face an incredibly heartbreaking fact.
He was ugly. Hideous and repulsive to look at. Not just people living their daily lives but also those with abilities beyond the norm.
"Welcome, everyone!" The announcer held a microphone in one white-gloved hand up to her radiant smile. "First, I would like to thank everyone for coming on this fine night! If you don't know who we are, allow me to make your acquaintance! We are the Traveling Zataras! A two-person show composed entirely of a father-daughter duo! And we've been traveling all across the United States from our hometown, Las Vegas, Nevada! We will be beginning in just a short moment! So please, sit back, relax, respect your neighbor, and enjoy the show!"
With that, the presumed Zatara theatrically bowed once before a billow of smoke engulfed her. Devouring her frame for just a moment until the cloud cleared and revealed the spot to be completely empty, with not even the stage curtains seeming to part in the slightest.
At the showing, applause echoed through the theater, the low murmuring growing to a fever pitch as people got a small taste of what was in store for them.
"She had to use a trap door there!" Dillon was now on her feet, trying to peer far enough above the rows of seats to get a glimpse of the stage floor.
"Maybe she just ducked and rolled?"
"With hair like that?" Angeline snorted. "Yeah, no. If I had her hair, you would not be seeing me rolling around."
"Do you think she would tell me what she does with her hair if I asked her really, really nicely?"
Even Olivia seemed enraptured enough to completely drop her usual act.
But even that chatter, being whispered and yelled over him, wasn't enough to lift him up. He just felt so lost in that instance as the space around them was quickly taken up until he was surrounded on all sides by errant chatter that did nothing but make his head feel congested. As if it would explode if someone were to poke it too roughly.
His mind, the cursed thing, kept replaying that short glance over and over again. Shame bubbled up from within, his cheeks growing flushed as he sank deeper into himself. Mixing with that heart-wrenching envy, it seemed to stir something to life. Something far more familiar than he was comfortable with admitting. The ugly thing swam from beneath the churning waves. A searing, impotent anger that made him want to lash out at the people flapping their gums endlessly.
A simple fantasy, one that would never leave the confines of his mind. Especially not that night. Not only did he think causing a childish tantrum now would get him excised from this place so fast that he wouldn't even know what hit him. Who knew how many of these people were involved in the magical world? It could even get him blackballed from even possibly working with any of them in the future.
And just getting up with no real explanation would also draw similar ire. From not just the sheer amount of people he would need to pass by, but also his friends. Especially those that he personally invited that night.
Instead, like always, he kept his mouth shut. Slipping his trench coat tighter in on himself, he sank deeper into the seat. His mind silently prayed for something to pull him away from this newfound hell. It didn't even need to be anything big.
Hell, he could even come up with an excuse right now.
'I forgot to feed my cat.'
'I think I left my stove on.'
'My stomach is feeling a bit off.'
And many more excuses came to mind, but all of them were rejected one by one. They were all lame and disingenuous-sounding, even to him.
'I wish someone would call me.'
In times like this, he kind of regretted separating his personal and work numbers. He would even take a prank call at this point.
Internally grumbling, Albert settled himself in for the show, already mentally tempering himself to show not even a single hint of wonder. Petty, sure. Childish, absolutely. But in that moment, he didn't care. He just wanted- no, needed- some way to temporarily vent that swirling pool of gnashing emotions eating away at him...Who was he kidding? It was him lashing out. Simple as that.