Chapter 2: It Beats Paperwork

Our first official case. I'm excited, energized, and happy for the new day. It's fleeting, all my emotions are, but I see no reason to let that dull my fun in the moment. I'm tempering my expectations, but I'm thrilled to go catch a magic-wielding pickpocket or cantankerous neighbor who lives next to a party house.

Unfortunately, we're called to something significantly less interesting.

Mirka is at the scene first. We're here for a drug dealer, peddling some kind of magically enhanced form of H. Not much in the way of evidence, so we're just two idiots with badges standing behind a fast food place creatively entitled "Burgers and Fries." There's no case to investigate here. Mirka takes a police report, and that's it. As it turns out, we're glorified meter maids.

At least the uniform is pretty nice. It's not blue, like a traditional cop uniform. Instead, its the same style of shirt, pants, and belt as cops, but colored a deep purple. Not that I would know, since I'm not wearing one. I've been granted an exception on the basis of potentially needing to disguise myself, despite repeatedly saying I won't need it. It only adds to the effect of us looking like idiots.

Mirka flips open her spellbook, and starts looking through it. "Here we go..."

The magic circle drawn in her spellbook briefly glows blue, and a faint echo of voices can be heard as we stand

"Yeah. It's a little extra. It'll hold you over longer, though."

"Damn... okay, whatever. What's it called?"

"Houdini."

"That's cute. Yeah, I'm good with that."

"If you want more..."

The spell fades, just in time for us to not get the information we could use.

"Nice spell, Mirka. Do it again?"

"Can't. Only works once per conversation. I got distracted, and broke my focus on the circle. It's my fault." She looks dejected by her failure. It's unfortunate, I guess, but hardly worth getting upset over. She's probably just more invested in the case than I am.

I scratch at my shell's head. Scratching is nice. One of my favorite sensations. "Distracted by what?"

She sighs loudly. "A wasp. I'm allergic."

I want to be mad, but I'm so apathetic I can't bring myself to care. "Sure, fine. So its called Houdini. Anything we can do with that?"

"Not that I can think of, at least not yet..." She starts pacing back and forth. "This was a huge mistake. We could have found them already. God damn it. I'll show you how to file an incident report once we get back, okay?"

"Uh-huh..." I lean down in the grassy back lot next to the drive thru menu, trying to find an angle where I'd be even remotely concealed, failing to find one. "This place is open 24 hours, I know since I'm here all the time. Who filed the report?"

"Passerby."

"So its obviously whoever was working here last night." I remind myself to smile, but I'm admittedly disappointed. This was far too easy. I was hoping for more.

"Yeah, just figuring that out? At least you're thinking like a detective." She breathes a sigh of resignation. "Well, we're not leaving empty handed." She walks around to the front door, with me in tow.

-

Mirka has no people skills, I notice, watching her flounder through a conversation with the manager.

"I'm not supporting drug dealing, I'm just saying you have to get a warrant!" The manager says, arms crossed and barring the way to the back.

Mirka shakes her head as we leave the way we came, exasperatedly looking at me, as if I can do anything about it.

"You said you have years of experience?" I say, straight-faced.

"Shut up."

"I think instead of that, I'm going to go into the back." Checking the time on my phone more out of boredom than to know, I return to the restaurant.

The manager is still in view, and returns to her defensive posture. "I said no. Get out."

I scratch the back of my head, enjoying the serotonin. I've noticed I feel pleasure from my shell, but not pain. I can only assume its my core's way of enticing me to use a shell. "I'm new. First day on the job, actually."

"I don't care." She glares at me, a couple customers watching not just me, but her. Is that the game?

"Damn. Was worth a try..." I take a small police notebook, pressing it against the wall and writing. I reach into my pocket, as I finish manufacturing a small slip of paper. I adjust my posture, writing my cell number on the slip, and sighing in dejection as I put the notepad away. "I won't bother you again. Thanks for being patient. I think my partner was trying to make a good impression on me." I offer a handshake, which she takes, palming the slip of paper in turn. Her name tag says Flora. I make a note of that.

I leave the fast food joint, and walk back to the car with Mirka. We have a simple looking black sedan that hides a siren and lights, bulletproof doors, and importantly an anti-scrying enchantment to prevent anyone from magically watching us. I get into the passenger seat, Mirka sliding comfortably into the driver's side.

"Just drive, doesn't matter where," I say, holding my phone ready.

"Huh?"

"...are you actually a detective? This was the most pulpy, obvious conclusion thing I've ever seen." It's a bit unfair for me to say, since I know all the tricks. I used to run in underworld circles around ten years ago, back when I lived with my first and only friend. I still make time to see him every so often, but its challenging lately as my office job and his own work had us drift apart. That, and I don't want him texting me about what he does daily.

She smiles, a bit tense. "I used to let my last partner handle that kind of thing. Sorry."

"What kind of thing, detective work?"

"Being the good cop. I'm usually the bad cop."

My phone rings, and I answer it with, "Hey, Flora. Workin' hard or hardly workin'?"

She grunts. "You're looking for Gary Higgins. Night crew, works tonight and the day after."

"Thanks. Have a good one." I hang up my phone with a dramatic button press. "If I'm the good cop, we're fucked."

-

This shell sucks. I copied the DNA from some strand of hair I found on the floor, and tried to shape it into what I see as the stereotypical heroin abuser. That means it comes with all the unfun parts I subconsciously injected into the persona. Especially scratching. Not fun scratching, but annoying itchy scratching. There's a humor in the fact that I'm currently faking being a human who's faking being a competent detective who's in turn faking being a junkie. And yet, even with all these duplicitous layers, I feel more comfortable with who I am. I have a purpose to my disguise beyond 'pretending to be human.'

I walk up to the counter, nervously glancing behind me, no one in sight. Eventually, Gary walks up to the counter. He's a bit on the pudgy side, like Mirka, but seems to be unused to carrying the extra weight. I can relate to having an uncomfortable shell.

I dry swallow. "Hey. Heard you had it. Back?"

He looks around as well, expecting a setup. "Who told you that?"

When in doubt: bullshit. If you talk enough, people will get you to stop. "I don't... I think Marty? You know Marty? Taller guy, brown-"

Gary almost imperceptibly gestures to the back. I quickly walk out and around to the back door of the place, eager to get this over with.

He reaches into his pocket, revealing a white powder that I certainly hope is heroin. I don't have to do anything else now, so I just stand in place for the moment. Mirka turns the corner around a bush, taser drawn. Gary immediately raises his hands above his head, and gets on his knees without being told. Not his first time, it seems.

I excuse myself as Mirka is putting him in cuffs, and sneak off to the bathroom. I consider keeping the shell, but change my mind and start tearing it apart inside of my inner world.

The interior of my body is hard to describe. It's a perfectly black void, but I know everything that's inside it at all times. In the same way my human shell knows how hungry it is, I know the exact spacing and relative volume of everything inside the void. I have control over everything within, including the ability to decompose anything into its base elements. My current understanding is that time doesn't exist within the space, or just moves so slowly that it doesn't matter. I left a gallon of milk in there once for a month, and it came out as cold as it was when I put it in, and just as fresh.

I'm fairly certain that creating items like I do is not the intended function, and is just an incidental byproduct of my shapeshifting. I have to copy chemicals and arrangement of chemicals to make a shell, and everything is chemicals in the end.

I check the mirror. Yep, I'm Lena again, and not scratchy. I put on the clothes I've stored in my void, and return outside to see Mirka bringing him to the back seat of the car.

"So?"

"Yep. It's magic." Mirka confirms. "I may be able to trace it with a spell, if you don't mind driving all around town for a while after we dump Gary at the station."

"Sure. I don't have anything better to do. I mean that genuinely, by the way."

"You never have anything better to do. You need a hobby or something."

-

I drive, Mirka trying to concentrate on a spell designed to locate similar magical energy. It's getting late, and she's getting tired. I should have accounted for that. Damn it. Now I have to drive all the way back.

"Got something. Big amount." She points with her thumb at a sketchy apartment complex. I mean sketchy in terms of stability, something about it makes it seem like its leaning slightly to the left, even though I doubt it actually is.

"Great. So, we can go get 'em?"

"...Lena, its eight o clock. How are you not tired after the long day?"

"Maybe its my third sorcerer power. Oooo spooky." I waggle my fingers in her direction.

She laughs. It's a deep laugh, that squeaks on each inhale. It's the kind of laugh someone who doesn't care what their laugh sounds like would have. I appreciate it. It's heartening to see such a genuine reaction through all the faking I do.

I just had an epiphany, I think.

I think I'm someone who likes to make people laugh. It's not just my shell releasing hormone signals, I genuinely feel happy from seeing her laugh.

I take out the small composition book from my void, along with a pen. I turn the page, and write my first observation of myself.

'#1: I like to make people laugh. There's joy in seeing other express themselves genuinely.'

I put the book and pen away, and start driving back to the station.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"What's the book?" Mirka asks.

"A journal, of a sort. I'd rather not talk about it."

She nods, smiling slightly against the moving city lights. It's a pretty smile. I mimic the expression, to which she smiles wider in response, as I turn my eyes back to the road. To think, I could have had this years ago...

-

I spend the night eating and playing video games. Not much else to do when this part of the world is asleep. I'm relieved when its time for work again, happy to have something to do. Mirka, fortunately, has agreed to pick me up from my apartment going forward. I don't like driving. It's way too tense when I have better reaction time than everyone else.

She takes us to the police station, parking the car and stepping out. I follow, interested in what this second day has to give me.

The answer is paperwork. I hate paperwork. I pull out my journal, and start scratching something in.

'#2: I hate paperwork. Not everything needs to be recorded. Humanity will survive without noting the exact time of making contact with a fast food employee.'

I sink the journal back into my void, which still hides just inside my pocket. I send a short text to Mark as well.

Me: Just as much dumb paperwork here as at my old job.

Mark: You and the paperwork. Welcome to the 21st century. Paperwork happens.

Me: So do a lot of things. Doesn't mean I have to enjoy them.

Mark: So what kind of job did you get anyway?

Me: Oh, I'm a magic cop now. I don't think I ever mentioned I was a sorcerer before.

Mark is typing...

I pocket my phone and turn the buzzer off before his incoming onslaught. "This sucks."

Mirka looks up at me from the desk. "What does?"

"This." I slap the massive pile of papers. "Shouldn't we be doing something more important?"

She chuckles to herself. "Yeah, no. You had a lot of action yesterday, actually."

"So, what, this is just an office job ninety percent of the time?"

"More or less. Later tonight, though, there's a raid on the Houdini manufacturing place we found. Apparently we need to be there to confirm the location and answer questions. That enough excitement for you?"

"Yes. Yes it is, actually."

"Then live it up, this is a once in a year thing."

I check my phone. Seven texts from Mark, mostly a hail of exclamation points and question marks. Amusing.

-

I stand outside the apartment complex, grouped up in front of the old metal door that leads inside the buildings. The drugs are in the basement, I've been told. Simple. Ten of us in total. Eight SWAT, myself, and Mirka.

"So," The SWAT leader, a guy with a thick accent I can't place and an equally thick black mustache says, "we don't know how well they're armed, if at all. As such, we're going in nice and easy. On my signal, we-"

He's interrupted by the sound of staccato gunfire, from an automatic weapon of some kind. I hear someone scream in pain. And then, as I try to retreat, I watch as my head is pierced by the gunfire, blood, brain, and little fragments of bone spew outward as my shell collapses. Damn it, that was the motor part of the pseudo-brain. My senses shut down a few seconds after. Two months of training, and I'm already dead.

At least it beats paperwork.

I can't quite tell if I'm alone, but I think its a safe enough bet after a few minutes. I absorb my shell into myself, and take my raven form and fly off to recover. Once I do, I perch on a nearby lamp and observe the situation. Mirka was outside the whole time, pinned against a low wall, but was so caught up I don't think she noticed. As she reloads her gun, she glances at the notable lack of my corpse, confused. She looks around, and briefly turns her head toward the raven on the lamppost. I squawk once, and continue to observe as I piece together my human shell within my void.

This'll be fun to talk about.

Retracting a full body into the size of a golf ball is as horrifying as it sounds. The shell is pulled inward, every one of the small dimples on my core that's connected to the shell is like a vacuum, pulling in the shell as strands of matter that are reassembled in my void. If I had to guess, its gross to look at directly, seeing a body subjected to an inextricable suction force from about two hundred shifting points. It takes only a few seconds to retract, and another few seconds to extend it back out.

As soon as my human shell is repaired two minutes or so later, I swoop into an open window I saw gunfire coming from. Fortunately for me, the man within doesn't see me as I land. I store my raven shell, exposing my core, and then shift back into Lena. This time, I'm holding the small handgun I brought with me from my void.

There's a lot of positives in this situation in terms of my goal. I'm alone with him. I'm also supposed to be dead, and he did just kill my shell. He's even shooting at my partner. I bet I could kill this guy right now... he has a bunch of gang tattoos, too. They may be relevant if I ever need to blend in with these guys.

I could try and get him to surrender, maybe. I'd raise questions about how I got up here, though, plus I wouldn't get to kill him. This is almost certainly my only chance, and I'm not going to squander it on a maybe.

I hold the gun to the back of his head, squeezing the trigger and watching him collapse against the open window as the bullet pierces his head.

I wait for something to happen, a consequence either physically or mentally, but there's nothing unusual. Is that significant? Maybe I need to kill more for guilt to start needling me?

In the meantime, I search his corpse, retrieving a brown leather wallet tucked firmly in his back pocket. Inside is an ID, cash, a few credit cards, and inexplicably his social security card.

I look down at the corpse below me. "You're not supposed to leave your social security card in your wallet, 36 year old Nikolas Spanos. Someone could steal your identity."

I start absorbing the man I just killed, identifying his every aspect to recreate a facsimile of him later. For now, though, he's just a lot of carbon, oxygen, sulfur, hydrogen, and a few dozen other trace elements.

Decomposing someone is fairly easy. I can get through about ten pounds a minutes for biological material, and their shape is stored in my subconcious. Non-organic material is tougher, maybe ten minutes to decompose and encode anything about the same size as I am: about two inches in diameter.

As I burn through his brain matter, I'm starting to feel a tiny bit guilty for murdering the guy. It's a strange sensation for me, one I have very little experience in. Then I remember how either he or one of his buddies killed me first while I was unarmed, and the guilt largely fades. I'm not sure what that means. Maybe I'll leave it out of the journal until I understand it more deeply.

Once my victim is fully decomposed, I shift back into a raven to reach the ground, and wait for Mirka to be distracted by gunfire. As soon as she starts returning fire, I shift back into my human form next to her.

I clear my throat. "Stay calm, I-"

She replies by drawing a knife, and stabbing me through the ribs, just missing my heart but nicking an artery. I have maybe five minutes. Great. She lets go of the knife, leaving it held by my shell's musculature, looking in horror at me. With a long sigh, I try again.

"Stay calm, I'm fine. I can regenerate."

"You... This has to wait." She returns fire after reloading.

I try to shoot back as well with my own gun, but I must have exposed myself too much. I catch a round in the shoulder, interfering with my ability to move my fingers. Damn it, that was my shell's dominant arm, too. Oh well, it already needs repair anyway, based on the knife sticking out of my chest.

And just as quickly as it started, all the gunfire ends. The SWAT team starts dragging out bodies, one of which is their own. I do want his armor material, but I get the sense that's a bad idea.

Mirka grabs my hand, and pulls me away and out of sight, looking at me in fear as she casts some kind of sigil onto the side of her gun. "Okay, we're safe. Now, what are you?"

"A sorcerer. I said that already."

"No way. There's no such thing as a sorcerer with more than two abilities, and you've shown at least five at this point. One of those is apparently coming back from the dead."

"Yeah. I'm talented as hell, huh?" I joke.

She doesn't laugh, and raises her gun to me. "Just tell the truth."

Straight to threats. "Come on, Mirka, we've known each other for a month now. No offense, but-"

"The sigil I cast on my gun is Imbalance. It will kill things that are magical in nature. It's made for magical beasts, like I'm assuming you are. Last warning. Tell me what the fuck you are."

I have no idea if that would work on my core or not, so I have to play it safe. Damn, I really like my Lena identity. Maybe the next one, if Mirka decides to tank Lena, could be a super muscular guy so I can see how ridiculous I can make the muscle density. Oh, or maybe an old man. That might be fun, I've never been an old person yet.

"You caught me. I'm not human. I don't really know what I am, unfortunately for us both." Its strange saying that out loud, like I just let loose forbidden knowledge, when all I did was... tell the truth. Not faking. It feels good.

"And why the hell did you join the police?"

May as well keep the truth flowing. "Honestly, it sounded interesting."

"Interesting?" she asks, without as much skepticism as I'd expect.

"Interesting. It was, by the way. Thanks for letting me tag along."

She holsters her weapon, letting out a sigh. "Okay. You answered my questions. That's all I wanted."

It's my turn to be confused, it seems. She genuinely just wanted to ask questions? "So... are you going to rat me out to the other police or MBR?"

"No, I'm not. I... had suspicions up until now. But you didn't seem to be doing anything bad, so I didn't want to press it in case I was wrong." Her eyes stay fixed on me, like I'm going to run.

For now, I'll take it. Even if its a lie, it means I get to avoid the confrontation for now. "Thanks. If anyone asks, tell them I said to call me, and I'll explain."

She doesn't seem to like my answer, studying me with folded arms. "You... are you okay?"

"I've got about three minutes before blood loss gets me."

"I mean mentally."

I believe that 'no' would be the correct answer here. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You quit your job, joined the police, got shot in the head, and are quitting right after without much complaint. That's not how you should be acting. You've also been completely monotone and haven't so much as frowned once in this whole conversation."

I frown in response, before returning to my neutral state. "Yeah. That's normal. See, I made a promise to myself. I'm not going to keep pretending to be someone else. I'm going to be the person I am, as soon as I find out who that is."

"As soon as you find out..?"

"Yeah. Hang on. I need to repair myself." I absorb my damaged shell, covering myself with my raven shell in the meantime. As I work, I turn my neck up at Mirka. She looks so different from the eyes of a bird. It's a different person, I think. Maybe that's all we as people are. A loose assortment of other people's perceptions...

No, that doesn't fit. If I was just other people's perceptions, and all I do is fake myself, I may as well not exist. I like existing.

After the couple minutes I need, I shift back into Lena, and offer Mirka's knife back to her. She takes it, hesitantly looking into the blade before sheathing it.

"Where was I? Right. I don't know who I am. I've spent every moment of my life being who others demanded from me. Now? I'm done with that. Oh, I have to fill in some pages of my journal..." I take it out, and write as Mirka watches.

#3: Killing people is less enjoyable than expected. There's no excitement in it, and I get a hint of remorse.'

#4: I enjoy being honest about my true nature, though I know I have to keep it a secret from nearly everyone.

I drop it back into my pocket, looking at Mirka's concerned eyes.

"So. Now you know." I force a smile, then walk away and to the dimly lit sidewalk. No real loss. I'm not particularly interested in police work anyway, after seeing the reality of it. I wonder what else there is for me out in this wide world. Maybe I'll find it somewhere else. I hear good things about Norway...

Five minutes later, the slow crunch of gravel, Mirka's car pulls up alongside me as I walk. She rolls down the window and keeps up with my pace, looking me over.

"Hey. You, uhh... you need a place to stay?"

"Nope. I got one." That's considerate of her, considering the last half hour. Potentially a trap, though.

"Good, good. My apartments been getting fumigated, and it might be another week after that for the renovations they're doing. I've been sleeping in the car, and since we aren't working together anymore... Think I can crash with you?"

She's not serious. "No, I don't."

"Come on. I'll sleep on the floor if there's no room. This car sucks, and I don't have any family out here. If you do, I won't tell Magical Beast Research that you're not human."

What a manipulative, opportunistic bitch. That's the kind of thing I would do. At least she's forward about it, and since I don't sleep, I'm not exactly threatened by her. "Are there any more conditions on top of that in exchange for your silence? I get the feeling you're going to abuse this."

"Nope. That's it."

Maybe this is novel enough to teach me something about myself, at least. I stop walking, and with a bit of reluctance, get into the passenger seat. It seems I have a temporary roommate, now. I wonder how much information I can squeeze out of the situation.

-

Mirka goes about cleaning my apartment, throwing trash away and dusting surfaces I had almost forgotten the actual color of.

'#5 I'm torn between feeling infantilized and relieved when others do something for me that I struggle to do on my own. Far more relieved than infantilized, though.'

As she finishes, she checks the time on her phone. "Okay. I'm gonna go to bed in a bit. Should I take the couch?"

"Bed's gonna be more comfortable. I don't need to sleep."

She nods, slowly. "So... I have a million questions about what you are."

"Oh? Go for it. I seriously don't know what I am, but I learned I like talking about myself."

"So... what's your actual body? That weird black orb thing?"

"You don't have to call me weird or a 'thing.' It's just what I am." I'm not particularly offended, but I'm trying to reinforce that I'm more or less normal, if only to keep her from reconsidering not turning me in. Even when I'm not masking myself beneath artificial layers, I'm still fairly certain I'm a person. I tried staying as a raven for a month, and found myself always drawn away from other birds, and towards people. Maybe its only a matter of intelligence, but I'm attached to humanity.

Mirka takes a long breath. "Sorry, that came out bad. Uhh... so whose body are you mimicking?"

"It's more of a collage of a half-dozen people, plus a few changes compared to a human: a fluctuating core temperature to kill any bacteria or viruses, a simplified digestive system, increased muscle density and tensile strength, improved gas exchange in my lungs, and a few others like a biological antifreeze proteins I stole from some microorganisms. That kind of thing. It's my primary shell, the one I feel most comfortable in. I take a lot of pride in it, actually, and I've spent a few years making modifications and optimizing it. I guess to answer your question... I'm mimicking my own body. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it does... Okay, million dollar question, are you planning to kill me?"

I make my shell laugh at that. It's funny enough to for me to share my amusement. "The idea crossed my mind, but I decided against it after realizing you're not a threat. I really hope you don't try and get me captured by MBR, but if you do, I'm fairly confident in my ability to escape and in my ability to vanish into crowds. It'd be simple enough to move to a new state or country."

She scoffs, actually looking insulted. "I'm a threat. Well, I can be."

"Uh-huh. Sorry, but I'm very good at being alive."

Mirka laughs at that, like its a game to her. I suppose it would be from her perspective, or maybe I wasn't intoning how seriously I meant it.

"I have one more question for you, Lena." She loses her humor fairly quickly, her tone dropping to be more serious.

"Sure. Oh, if you're hungry, I've been subsisting entirely on multivitamins and mints for... like a year. Ish. You can either get your own food, or I can just extrude some."

Her face at hearing that is incredible. I commit it to memory, as she gathers herself enough to talk. "I... don't want to eat anything you extrude."

"Suit yourself. So what was your question?"

"What's next for you? Like... I can explain this away to MCIS and Counter-Magic if they get involved, but that leaves you without a job. Back to an office?"

"Oh, no. Hell no. I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but whatever it is, I want less paperwork."

"Well. Good luck. I hope you find yourself."

"Me too, Mirka. Me too."

I reach into my pocket, taking the notebook and pen that come from my void, and write down a few new things.

6# I take a lot of pride in my shell. I've spent a long time perfecting it, and the end result is a culmination of that hard work.

7# I like to think that I'm a very accepting person, who can work around another's quirks so long as they don't treat my own with hostility.