Mopping the floors once wouldn't get rid of the metallic scent of blood.
One time.
Two times.
I ended up using bleach to cover up the scent, yet it still lingered in my nostrils.
I made the bed for my siblings.
Tucked Misha's side tightly, and Jiran's more loosely.
Put their different belongings back in their place.
When I brought them back home they'd be so grateful to see their rooms all cleaned up and neat.
I did the same with my parents' room.
Made the bed, placed their stuff on the shelves or drawers, slightly opened the curtains to let just enough sunlight come through.
I tried sleeping what little night remained away, but my brain just wouldn't turn off.
The moment I laid my head on a pillow my thoughts began rushing.
Laying on my bed felt like unproductiveness, like something was missing.
Sleeping in my siblings' beds didn't change much, but with the added guilt of acting like if their memories weren't still lingering in place.
Same with my parents.
It felt like if I was overlapping their positions in space, even if they were nowhere to be seen.
The sun rose before I could notice as I cleaned up.
I wiped the soles of my boots clean, getting rid of the slightest blood stain.
Even if I had done nothing, there was no proof.
If a ward caught me off-guard I'd be set for a life in prison for 'homicide'.
Despite their lives, their presences being taken away from me.
The law couldn't do anything for me.
Justice was in my hands.
And I'd find them.
I'd find my parents.
Somehow.
The coat I'd worn last night was being scrubbed, my hands moving rapidly until the water and soap clouded my scales.
I wrung it out and hung it where the sun could reach it.
I washed my hands.
Over and over again.
I stopped when my fingers started to sting.
I cut bread for my breakfast, the first slice was thicker than expected and the second too thin.
I set a pan on the stove and waited for it to heat, cracked an egg with one hand, small pieces of shell falling onto the pan.
The egg sizzled, the only sound in my now empty house.
I stood there as it cooked, staring at the wall.
When it was done, I ate standing up, it didn't taste like anything, but I kept on chewing.
I cleaned the pan immediately after.
Before leaving, I checked the house one last time.
Doors locked, windows shut.
The floor still smelled of bleach and soap, but the metallic scent wouldn't go away at all.
Vendors were setting up their stalls, calling out prices and products, being way too loud for how early it was.
A pair of kids ran past, one of them nearly tripping over their own feet.
An old man swept in front of his shop, the broom making slow movements against the stone.
Each step I took felt almost robotic, my brain wasn't actively thinking about walking.
I turned corners without giving any thought.
My reflection stared at me from a shop window as I passed.
I looked well enough, just a man on his way to work.
My workshop came into view, its familiar silhouette grounding me in a peculiar way.
I couldn't care enough to set-up the workshop for the day.
I just went to the back, past the counter, and dropped into my chair.
It creaked under my weight. I leaned back anyways and pushed off the floor with the tip of my boot.
The chair spun, slowly getting faster.
The ceiling lights blurred into streaks, the hum of the workshop filled my ears.
I let my arms hang loose at my sides.
My hands felt heavy, like gravity was acting up on them.
The counter drifted past my vision over and over as I spun.
The chair wobbled and corrected itself with my movements.
My foot dragged lightly against the floor, slowing me down without fully stopping.
I didn't bother to push again right away, just letting the momentum die out on its own.
Someone called my name from the front.
I didn't answer immediately.
Sitting there for a moment, behind the counter, in the back of the workshop, gently rocking my chair.
I finally stood up and got to the counter.
"Farsi den Ghunnaich Cruthfior."
The name reached me like the way sound does when underwater.
"Per Civil Revenue Statute forty-seven, subsection C, failure to rectify declared income discrepancies within the allotted grace period constitutes willful evasion."
Words stacked on words, their meaning never quite reaching me.
I tapped my fingers on the counter, the wards' appearances a blur in my mind as I stared off behind them, at the workshop's entrance.
How hard would it be to just get out of this place and ignore them.
"Repeat violations indicate pattern noncompliance. Penalties may include asset seizure, license suspension, or custodial review pending tribual-"
I stared at a chip in the counter's wood.
I'd made that chip myself years ago when learning to use a new drill.
"Do you acknowledge receipt of this notice?"
The wards stood in front of me.
Funny how I hadn't noticed.
I blinked.
Same uniforms as yesterday.
The human was talking, the Hir-Soger's eyes roamed the room, deciding what to seize if it came down to it.
The human's mouth kept moving and moving.
His voice blurred into a single, flat tone, like the early sound chips that'd just generate high-pitched monotone frequencies due to their instructions being just on or off.
"...by signing here, you confirm-"
I wondered, distantly, if my father had slept well last night before disappearing.
If my siblings managed to make up for their earlier fight.
If mother could rest.
"...or we proceed under assumption of non-operation."
Something nudged the edge of my awareness.
Their faces finally snapped into focus, like an adjusted lens.
The human ward frowned slightly.
"...do you understand what I'm saying to you?"
I met his eyes.
No matter what happened next, he'd walk out of here unchanged.
The authority was stitched into his uniform, engraved into his insignia.
"No." I said.
"Excuse me?"
The word felt good leaving my mouth, I hadn't allowed myself to say it in some time.
I smiled, not a polite smile, a small twitch at the corner of my mouth, like something inside me had cracked.
My hand slid down the counter.
Past the register, past the edge were customers leaned, down to the underside.
The security button had been installed there a couple months ago.
About the size of my thumb, and a black color that blended in with the shadows.
Click.
The sound was soft.
Steel shutters slammed down over the windows.
The front gate shut-down with bone-rattling force.
Internal locks engaged one after another, a series of heavy thunks that echoed through the space.
The lights dimmed.
The bell over the door rang once, then stopped.
"What did you just-"
The Hir-Soger didn't speak, he just moved rather quick.
His arm came up, weapon already drawn.
I looked at him for a second.
His posture had some tension to it, and his eyes were sharp-focused on me.
For a moment, everything slowed, then he fired.
The shot hit me right in the chest.
I felt the impact register as pressure as I almost fell onto my back, managing to give a few steps back to keep my balance.
No pain followed.
Just... a small itch.
I blinked and looked down.
The fabric of my clothes was scorched, a neat blackened ring where the shot had landed.
My scales beneath were almost unharmed.
The human froze, his eyes wide and mouth half-open.
The Hir-Soger stared at me with a face of almost despair.
I laughed.
Like a maniac.
It burst out of me, a raw and loud laugh. Echoing off the shuter and metal walls, scraping my throat as it climbed out of my chest.
I doubled over, one hand braced on the counter as the sound kept coming.
An itch, that's all it was.
Their authority and fear had been reduced to nothing.
I straightened slowly wiping a tear from the corner of my eye.
The human raised his radio as he stared at me in fear.
"Allium here, I require assistance, we're dealing with a magic user, the subject is in a psychotic sta-"
I shot at his radio without paying attention.
I had a large grin on my face, and my gun, my trusty desert eagle was hanging off my index finger.
My laugh came back again, this time softer.
The plastic and metal burst apart, falling onto the floor, some sparks were sent out flying.
His grip when slack immediately.
I let the gun spin once around my finger before catchingit properly.
The Hir-Soger moved down this time.
He tried to dive, roll behind the counter and get some distance.
But his training kicked in late and clumst. I fired before he even finished preparing for the dive.
The shot hit him low, had it been the stomach? perhaps the chest?
He hit the floor hard and stayed there for a moment.
At first it was a normal sight, a ward downed by a clean shot, body tensing, blood pooling, the usual.
His limbs twitched, his claws scraped against the stone as his body tried to move and his nervous system acted up.
He writhed and groaned in pain, his voice turning weaker.
A long time passed.
Perhaps too long.
His body convulsed and he screamed, muscles locking and unlocking without rhythm.
He clawed at the wound, then at the floor.
His body had begun to malfunction but he isn't dying?
Well, isn't that peculiar.
[ Stray Bullet ]
The box appeared in my view.
Seems it had activated, somehow.
I still didn't know what it did.
He gasped and choked, eyes wide and unfocused.
His chest rose in shallow, desperate motions.
He began coughing up blood in gross amounts, coating his hand and what little clear floor remained below him.
I tilted my head.
"...huh..."
No shutdown seemed to come, just endless suffering.
The human made a sound then, just a small one.
I turned to him slowly.
He backed away until his shoulders hit the shutters, hand raised uselessly, palms open like that would change anything.
"You said something interesting earlier, something about a magic user, am I right?"
He swallowed hard. "Y-you're not on the public records-"
"Oh, I'm aware... Don't you just hate it when stuff happens without your permission?"
I stepped out from the counter, lifting my feet as I passed over the convulsing Hir-Soger.
A scream tore out of his, his tail trashed against the floor, knocking over a stool.
"...ah... I'll have to clean all this up later."
The human flinched violently and looked down at him, then back at me.
"See, this is what I don't get. You're trained to handle magic users, am I right? I met a couple wards back in the day, you had protocols, contingency manuals..."
I leaned in close enough that he could smell the bleach that clung to my clothes.
"P-please..." His breathing was rapid now, shallow little gulps of air.
I laughed softly, shaking my head.
"Don't worry, its not your time yet."
A sob tore out of him, knees buckling as he slid down the shutter, hands shacking as they tried to cover his face.
The ward just stared at me, eyes flicking between my face and the gun in myt hand, then down to his partner writhing on the floor.
"Start talking, because I'm very curious."
"A-about...?"
I tapped my chest with two fingers, right where the shot had landed.
"Why didn't it hurt?"
".,.mana flow," he took a deep breath trying to contain the shakiness in his voice. "Active circulation through the vascular system creates a cohesive field across everything."
"Everything..."
"Every atom, its like a shield that doesn't require casting."
I let that sit for a second.
"I'm assuming the more mana the more protection."
"Y-yes." He gave a small, careful nod.
Interesting.
I glanced down at my hand, turning it slowly.
"And the messages? The pop-ups, names, effects, and explanations."
His brow furrowed.
"Internal manifestation-"
He gulped before readjusting himself, I noticed his intentions of reaching out into his pocket for something, so I aimed the gun at his hand.
"When latent magic activates violently, it tries to adapt. Your perception translates it into something you can understand."
"So it's not of divine origin..."
"No... probably not."
I took a step closed, and he flinched.
"And this," I gestured vaguely to the room, to the body still shaking on the floor.
"Why now?"
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"We... don't know." he admited.
"Th-there are late bloomers, but the oldest we've seen are at 10 years old and no more, its engraved in your biology... o-or at least it should be."
I almost laughed again.
Ten years old.
"...right," I said softly.
The Hir-Soger let out another wet broken noise behind me.
Still alive, stuck somewhere between functions.
"One last thing," I added.
His head snapped up fast.
"You mentioned there are records of magic users..."
His breathing hitched.
"There was a man, I saw him tonight in my sleep. Before anything happened. He was chained in a dungeon, by that I mean the chains were coming out of his limbs."
His hands started shaking.
"I saw him, and then he snapped his head at me, then I woke up."
Silence.
"Who was he?"
His eyes went glassy and unfocused, staring somewhere past my shoulder. His breathing stuttered.
"...I can't."
I tilted my head.
"Can't or won't?"
His face crumpled, tears spilled over, hands clawing at his clothes, fingers bunching the fabric like he was trying to tear the insignia of his own chest.
"I- I'm not allowed to-"
I straightened, so he did know, just not enough to satisfy me.
"That's unfortunate."
"Please! I have a family-"
I sighed.
"So did I."
I raised the gun.
The shot echoed sharp.
His body went slack immediately, crumpling sideways against the shutter before sliding down to the floor.
I was fully expecting for my skill to activate at that moment.
But my waiting was for nothing, as it never popped-up.
I tapped the sides of the corpse with my boot.
Yeah, dead.