Carpe Magicae

Carpe Magicae is a story about the founding of the Munijoch intelligence agency, 9, as well as how the agency shifted it's focus from simply destroying magic to utilizing it in it's mission to gather intelligence on the top threats to the WhiteBlood controlled country. Featuring a load of 80's references, hairdos, technology, and quips, it's the true story of one of the Antarctic region's most efficient, brutal, and cunning intelligence agencies.

Prologue: Superstition
If you were to look at the Omnipotent Blood-- that is, the real President of Munijoch, you would be forgiven for thinking that he looks rather dorky. In fact, that's part of his allure; who wouldn't be able to trust an enigmatic, professional looking guy with slick, peppered hair, aviators, and a sweater vest-khaki combo? Probably his only giveaway from his relatively normal look would be the yellow, glowing pupils he has shining through his smokey gray glasses. His mission is rather simple: lead the country, make the country better (that is, more efficient), and prevent the existence of magic from being revealed to all but the top of society. Oh, and sprinkle in some propaganda on top of that, just to ensure public support continues for the WhiteBloods. In their manifesto, they state that eventually, the government would no longer be necessary, as all work necessary to create the perfect state would have been completed by then, including the eradication of dangerous forces and weaponry from all but the most trusted in society, disease, famine, and magic, arguably the most dangerous of all the potential threats to society at the time, according to them. The purpose of the WhiteBlood government, then, was simple: eliminate magic from this plane of existence.

Only, one slight problem: one of the most powerful members of the WhiteBlood society uses magic on an almost daily basis, and was quite good at too. That said member happens to be the Omnipotent Blood himself. So then, why does he want to keep the public safe from it?

Simple answer: Absolute power feels absolutely good.

The Omnipotent Blood walked into the room, rather relaxed for what was about to occur. It was, after all, his announcement of the establishment of a formal agency to take over his long held role of overseeing magic purges in the countryside. He unlocked the door to a rather cluttered room with a conference room, books, papers, and chalk dust everywhere, albeit with a beautiful view of the City of Progress, a bustling, futuristic city complete with efficient vehicles, solar panels, and the construction of a multilayered street and alleyway system for buildings to receive cargo without congesting the above ground roads. He closed the door, turned on a white noise generator, took a breath, and sighed.

Paul: Ayyyeeee Mark!

Mark: Ayyyyeeeeeeee!!

John: Mark! Ayyyeeeee

Mark began pointing back and forward towards John

Mark: Ayyeeeee!

Lance: Oh Mark how ya been!

Mark: Lance, buddy, ayyyeeee!

All: ''' Ayyyeeeeeeee! '''

Paul cleared his throat, silencing the room with the exception of the static playing prominently in the background.

Mark: So, um, as the Omnipotent blood, I have decided that the best way to try and finally eliminate the threat of others using magic once and for all is the establishment of a formal agency to deal with this kind of stuff. The beauty is that we can masquerade it as a typical intelligence agency, but in actuality, have it's sole prerogative be to hunt down magic users first and foremost.

John: So that sounds like a pretty good idea, but how will they do it exactly?

Mark: Well, we can probably give them guns... vehicles obviously... they can get funding and... stuff.

Paul: And who will lead this?

Mark: That will be up to Lance here, our "President" to decide, isn't that right?

Lance: Right! I decided that we can hold a special lottery or something, like drawing straws between our current intelligence agency, Munijoch Standard Intelligence, to lead this one.

Mark: And that's why you're our "President!" Any questions?

Paul: Yeah, um, what if we don't make this work?

Mark: Oh, but it will!

Paul: Right, but if it doesn't?

Mark gave him a glare, almost beckoning him to knock it off.

Mark: It will work, Paul.

Paul: Right, but if in the case it doesn't work, what's our backup plan?

Mark: We don't try to prove negatives here, Paul.

Mark pointed a seemingly ordinary cane at Paul, unmasking it as a staff, and zapping him with a beam of dark Cosmos energy. It appears he disappeared.

Mark: Bring in Mike!

Mike quickly ran into the room, smiling.

Mark: Mike! My man! Clean up this mess in here, we have a future to rewrite! Meeting dismissed, folks!

They all scuffled out, leaving Mike to clean up his mess. In the corner of the room, two eyes revealed themselves. They had a chromatic glow to them, looking in horror at the sight before them. They took out a slate, drew one line, and promptly teleported away, leaving dust on the floor that slightly glistened in the light of a setting sun.

-

The figure reappeared in a cave lined with ornate decorations, chambers that glowed blue, and guards in ornate metal armor. Each one had a spinning ax at the ready. When they reappeared, each one knelt down before them.

Knight 1: Lady Visionary, pleased to see you made it back.

Visionary: Of course I did, now rise. Our intelligence was right; Mark does have the Staff of the Maddening Maw, he disposed of an associate that fell out of favor with it. Unfortunately I was not able to retrieve it, as he walked out of the room with it. Knowing Mark's abilities, had I used magic to teleport it here, he would have found out our location. At this point, I don't know what we can really do about this. To reveal ourselves would be to tango with death, which is not something we can afford right now.

Knight 2: Did they mention anything about their current efforts?

Visionary: Yes. They are forming a new agency specifically to deal with the threat of magic across the island. We are going to have to withdraw our trainers from our outposts in order to keep them safe and at the ready for a surprise invasion.

Knight 1: Did they mention logistical challenges they might face?

Visionary: Yes. They didn't know exactly how to operate the agency without being at a disadvantage, hence why Mark's associate got vaporized. There appeared to be dissent held privately among them.

The Visionary walked to a chair, adorned with gold and silver, and sat down. A book floated over to her side, opening itself and coming alive with purple runic text.

Knight 1: Perhaps we should try and invade the agency instead?

Visionary: Explain, please.

Knight 2: I think what he means is impersonating an agent and trying to either move up in the ranks or finding a way to take out a leader and replace them as ourselves. Then, we can lead the agency astray.

Visionary: One of the leaders did mention that they were going to do a straw contest to see who would be leader. Maybe we could use that as a way to gain a foothold.

Knight 1: It would be risky, but it might be a gamble we can afford.

Visionary: Indeed. I'll head out tomorrow to try and see what I can gather from this new state of affairs. Until then, I recommend you all get some rest. Dismissed.

The knights headed off, visibly in a better mood than when they started. The Visionary was too, as this was the beginning of a special plan of hers to not only protect the Nightwardens, but to bolster their efforts to preserve magic across Munijoch.

-

Mark sat in his office, intently studying the Staff of the Maddening Maw. It was unlike any artifact he's ever seen, and even then, after all these months, it still fascinates him. The ornate design highlights the nature of the magic that flows in it. It was unique, as the runes emblazoned on it have been rewritten over many years, resulting in the magic being corrupted and shifting to the counterpart of Cosmos runes: Abyssal. Fitting, he thought, for such a powerful staff.

It was beginning to be the end of the day, and by now, Mark had grown tired of being in his office. He had only been on the job for a few months now, but he yearned for the life he once lived, carelessly studying artifacts and enjoying the time spent with his wife. To him, those were simpler times. Times that he yearned to return to.

He put the staff in a long safe hidden in the floor, shut it tight, took his tweed coat, punched out, and walked to his car. He put his smokey quartz glasses away and pulled out specially tinted contact lenses that hid his glowing pupils, mostly to keep suspicion away from his wife, as he feared that if she found out, she would begin to avoid him for her own safety. One day, he hoped, he would tell her that he's doing all of this for their safety.

He started the car and tuned the radio to the pop hits station, where a rather catchy song began to play.

iIpfWORQWhU

He tapped the gas, threw the car in reverse, and drove out the parking lot and onto the streets, filled with citizens walking to and from their jobs, errands, and classes. Sometimes, he would wonder what they saw, felt, and acted like, but then he remembered the government already knew, thanks to the numerous surveillance cameras watching their every move. Smart, he thought, he need not concern himself with such philosophical questions.

He drove slowly, meandering through the gridlock that was the City of Progress. Eventually, he arrived at a discreet looking house with tan bricks and even lighter blocks of cement blocks that formed the foundation. He approached the red door, unlocking it slowly. He turned the knob, looking around with curious eyes. He turned on the light, and she was there.

Mark: Ah, Vivian.

She stood there with a look of pure satisfaction in her eyes. She was where she wanted to be, even if she felt something off with him. She approached and hugged him, holding him tightly.

Vivian: Ah, Mark. How was work?

To Vivian, Mark was the Attorney General for Munijoch.

Mark: Work went about as well as it could have. And you?

To Mark, Vivian was an artist.

Vivian: I started the draft sketches on three new pieces, and little Joseph here helped out!

Cooing in the background, a little Joseph sat on the floor playing with his toys. He picked up an abacus and began sliding the beads from side to side, losing interest and turning his eyes to several large rings on the floor, next to his stuffed figurines. He saw Mark and let out a giggle.

Mark: What an artist indeed! How is he handling your preemptive lessons?

Vivian: About as well as a one month old can. He needs time to grow still. This world is still young for him.

Mark: Perhaps. But, he must be perfect.

Vivian: That will come in time Mark. Come, let's head to the kitchen, I have a casserole made.

Mark: Tuna?

Vivian: What else?

Mark chuckled and followed Vivian to the kitchen. As the two left, Joseph sat on the floor, looking in awe at his parents. Who would have known that these two people were just the best in the whole wide world? Then again, he hasn't met many people, besides those two and this clone he found in his parents room on the wall. Truly a strange character.

The two parents laughed and shared a merry time eating their dinner, exchanging forks with each other and giggling. Vivian excused herself to wash up, and walked past Joseph. She bent down and picked him up, a hurt look in her eyes.

Vivian: Oh Joseph, you are too young to know, but I know someday, you'll make an impact on this country. I know you will, regardless of what Mark says. I don't know how, but you will.

She smiled, placed him down, and pulled a cookie from her pocket.

Sweet things deserve sweet things.

Chapter One: Infiltration
Vivian woke up to the sight of pure darkness. Normally, she wouldn't be too concerned, as it was the night. But, Mark sleeps with the lights on, making this all the more dangerous for her. The air felt like it was being sucked out of the room, rendering her almost unconscious. She quickly rolled away and found that the darkness was two dimensional. Once she got her bearings, she slowly approached it, sticking a limb out in front of it and trying to grab it. It felt like a sheet of paper with a hole in it.

She began to panic, fearing for her life and her son's life.

Vivian: Mark, Mark wake up! Help me!

Mark stirred, but the thing did not go away. He seemed troubled, as if he was in pain. Vivian continued to try and wake him up

Vivian: Mark! Please, please wake up! I need you!

Mark began to stir some more, opening his eyes momentarily. The darkness faltered, but did not go away.

Eventually, Vivian slapped Mark across the face, finally waking him up, and with it, making the darkness disappear.

Mark: Ouch! What in the- Vivian what's wrong?

Vivian: Mark! There was... something... here! I saw, I felt... something! How did you not notice it?

Mark: You know I'm a heavy sleeper, Vivian! What did it look like?

Vivian: It looked like a puncture that just was... there. If I looked at it from another perspective other than head on, it shrinks in size. If I look at it from the side, it disappears.

Mark: I think you were having sleep paralysis, Vivian. Listen to some classical music and go back to sleep. The record is on the third shelf in the living room, next to the stereo. Once you do, make yourself some tea and head back to sleep. Maybe take the day off. Now, good night.

Vivian looked shocked at the disregard Mark made towards what happened. She was not dreaming, she knows what she saw. It was clear that Mark did not understand, nay comprehend, the severity of what was in front of her. Disgruntled, she got up and did what Mark suggested.

Meanwhile, Mark sat up after she had gone and pulled out a notebook. On a page, he crossed another tally mark that was under the label of "Incidents." There were 43 so far.

What could Mark do about all of these incidents? This marked the first time that he consciously slept through one. Perhaps the power he obtained is proving to be detrimental to his psyche, and is leaking into his dreams; by using it in his dreams, much like sleep talking, he risks releasing it into the real world. The obvious solution to protect Vivian is to simply not sleep, or at least, keep away from her at night. It pained Mark to have to sleep on the couch, but it's better to waking up to an empty house, or even no house for that matter.

Vivian, meanwhile, walked into the living room, having made herself a scalding hot cup of tea with honey poured in. The warm light of the table lamp gave her a minor substitution to Mark's own warmth. She set the cup down and browsed their record collection; for how bad Mark can sometimes act, his music taste was impeccable. His stereo set up was also one of his few prized possessions: four speakers, a massive sub woofer, all with high fidelity. She sat down with her tea at her side, along with a throw pillow, and leaned herself back and just listened to the music whisk her back to drowsiness.

9fNrJMkTWEE

Mark heard the music playing and smiled slightly, humming along. It was, after all, his favorite song, and the lyrics made tons of sense to him. The band was right, for in the end, their efforts to do anything amount to nothing. They are dust in the wind, their lifespans a fraction of a fraction of infinity. Vivian, on the other hand, took the song as a challenge to make an impact that can be felt for future generations, and that while their time alive might be short, they should make their best effort to make sure future generations can still feel their impact, even after they are gone.

Perhaps it was wishful thinking on her part.

Eventually, she started to feel drowsy, prompting her to stop the song and chug down the rest of her tea. She placed it in the sink and made the silent promise to do the dishes tomorrow, eventually. She shut the lights off and tip-toed quietly to the bedroom, only to find Mark snoring rather loudly. Slightly annoyed that she would just get kept awake throughout the night, she opted to sleep in the living room on the still-warm chair. She grabbed a quilt from the nearby couch and wrapped herself in it, beginning her journey into the world of dreams.

-

Mark woke up to a metallic shrill; his alarm clock broke, again. Frustrated, he took it and yanked it from the outlet, throwing it across the room at the wall, leaving a nasty mark. He yawned and looked down at his wristwatch on the night table next to the bed. Oh, it's only 11:30.

Wait...!

Not only did Mark oversleep, he missed both his breakfast briefing, daily news report, morning coffee, and part of lunch! This could not stand, clearly. But, what could Mark do about this?

Mark ran to the kitchen and picked up the phone, rotating the dial and trying not to incorrectly dial the number.

Mark: Hello? Hello? Lance? Hey, uh, cancel today, can you? Yeah, you heard me. Why? I missed today 'cause I overslept. No, this isn't April 1st. Yes, I'm completely serious. I'm sure that there isn't anything rea- ...oh. Oh. Uh, okay. Uhuh. Yeah, okay, I'll try and make it in. You owe me, Lance!

Mark slammed the phone down and grumbled to himself, quickly running to his bedroom. He emerged in a dark grey suit accented by a brand new tie. He ran to his car and took his contacts off, placing his smokey quartz glasses on and began his commute to the government office. If he had any real say, he would've definitely cancelled today. But no, he had work to do apparently. Who's idea was it to begin the modernization of Munijoch, anyways?

He arrived at the government offices, rather grumpy to begin with, and walked in, only to immediately find his council bombarding him with paperwork to immediately sign. Annoyed, he tried to make a quick escape to the coffee pot to at least try and wake up first. He successfully escaped, pouring himself a quick cup and taking the first sip, instantly filling him with a little bit of energy. Now able to at least handle his council, he took a sigh and turned around to face them. He smiled and let out a little bit of a chuckle, almost trying to intimidate them slightly.

Mark: Now then, since I'm finally here, what is it that's so important that this can't wait until tomorrow, hm?

His council gulped a little bit and started shoving each other to speak up.

Lance: Hey Mark, s-sorry for making you come in, but it's mostly just paperwork regarding a couple key research endeavors to meet your goal of modernization by 2012. We have, for example, our military research endeavors for both medical devices and new weapons, and, of course, the intelligence agency.

Mark: Ah yes, of course. Project NEVOX and Emilia's project. Give them however much money is necessary. And the intelligence agency?

Lance: Yes, sir, what would you like to name it?

Mark: Perhaps SI:9? It would stand for--

Just then, the alarms began to blare. The gentlemen in the room took it as a warning of impending attack, and promptly began to prepare themselves for battle. Mark grabbed his cane and revealed its true form. As the men faced each other, back to back, an intern came in and switched the alarm off.

Intern: Sorry! Fire alarm went off in the printer room!

Mark groaned and reverted his staff back its original form.

Lance: Anyways... SI:9?

Mark: Yes! Now who's been selected to lead it?

Lance: Well sir, we drew straws and I won... so I guess I am?

Mark: Perfect! I'll just be taking over your position now, Lance. Alright, meeting dismissed, yeah?

The others looked around, shocked at both the brevity and the consolidation of power that took place just now.

Lance: Erm... sure?

Mark: Perfect! If you need me, I'll be in my office catching what little Z's I have left.

Mark ran off to the elevator, whistling one of the many catchy tunes currently on the radio. The others still sat there, flabbergasted at what just happened. How could this... this slob of all people, possibly have been chosen to lead this organization? Was it purely a skill based position? Perhaps it was a position based on demeanor, or charisma? Whatever the reason was, Mark surely ticked the boxes, unfortunately. In either case, they couldn't speak up against him, lest he takes his wrath out on them. In a way, this is a very well built power structure, and if it works...

Lance: Well, now that that's done... where should we have our headquarters, anyways?

John: We recently confiscated an old office building here in the City of Progress. It's on the outskirts but it's perfectly usable. We can get a secret train to run there or something, and it can be secure enough for our use.

Lance: That's just perfect then, maybe I won't get fired. John, please get on that. As for the rest of you, please be useful somewhere else.

Lance walked off in a huff, clearly worried about the sporadic nature of his boss. John, meanwhile, ran back to his office and instructed his secretary to make calls. Perhaps this agency can get started within the day.

-

The Visionary sat down on a wooden chair, studying away at the various lexicons and tomes that were preserved over the years. Each one of the tomes told a story of one's trials and tribulations with the magic they knew almost nothing about. Each note was seemingly a revelation for them, a technique never before seen. The Visionary wanted to study everything about the runes and inscriptions that could once be found almost everywhere on the island, as it was her job to keep the existence of magic alive and well for future generations of users. Her work was not easy, but if someone had to do it, it's best if it's her.

As she poured over a tome detailing the conjuration of an everlasting biscuit, a knight came into the domicile, kneeling at the entrance. He coughed slightly to get her attention.

Knight: Lady Visionary, word from the City says that the government has approved the funding of three new ventures, including the intelligence agency you reported on. What are our instructions?

The Visionary looked up and conjured the biscuit, taking a bite from it. It tasted terrible.

Visionary: BLEGH! Oh, what? Ah, yes, the agency. For now, I want you to keep an eye on it, as chances are, they are currently setting fires trying to find a headquarters. We can't infiltrate too early, lest they notice and track us. When the time is right, we're going to infiltrate and try to usurp the leadership. Doing so will give us the greatest chance at manipulating the agency to match our plans. As for this biscuit, please place this in the Disappointment Vault. Clearly, the author of this tome has no idea how to conjure nor cook.

The Knight took the biscuit and went to the corridor at the back of the sanctuary, walking towards the vault. He opened it and tossed the biscuit in, which landed next to a picture of a random knight with the caption "Tonight's Biggest Loser" in bold, red lettering on it. There was also a random rubber duck, a cook book, and a twig.

The Knight walked past various other vaults, where priceless artifacts and weaponry were stored. He peered into each of them, the metal glinting the blue light within the vault back at him. Some artifacts even had faint wisps of magic orbiting the handles and blades. He wondered why they couldn't go into battle and take out each and every WhiteBlood member with these artifacts.

Visionary: I know you yearn for battle, my Knight. We can't battle while the WhiteBloods have The Infinite Engine; doing so would be a dance with death. I sense they are at the brink of a discovery that will threaten the very nature of our existence. If they go through with this, we will be hopelessly outmatched. The wise thing to do is to wait for the unknown to reveal itself. It's only then that we can take action.

Knight: I have learned much of The Infinite Engine, but why must it dictate our action, Lady Visionary?

Visionary: The Infinite Engine represents inscriptions of Runes at their most powerful, with each of the Runes manifesting as an embodiment of the nature of their magic, also called a Sequence. With the right preparation and protection, these Sequences can be taken and applied to mundane objects, such as a staff or a ring. The result is an artifact known as a Shard of Infinity, a portion of a specific power of The Infinite Engine. If the WhiteBloods even have one of these Shards, they can launch a devastating attack on us. With all ten, they're almost unstoppable. My studies have always repeated a phrase about The Infinite Engine: "for every shard, make an army fight hard. If there are ten, bring ten armies then."

The Knight looked on, horrified at the revelation. How could they let the WhiteBloods take this?

Visionary: It was... difficult to try and steal The Infinite Engine back. Doing so required a very specific combination of magic that I could not create on the spot; even I am not omniscient. I regret it everyday. But, to dwell on the mistakes of the past only allows the past to keep biting back at you. One must look to the future to fight back, and I know our future is bright. Keep up the fight, and I know we will see peace soon enough.

Knight: Yes, Lady Visionary. Your will shall be done.

The Knight bowed and left the corridor, walking back to his post. The Visionary has a way of inspiring others, it seems, and he has certainly been inspired. Since it was an off-hour, he got out his headphones, plugged them into a tape player, and began listening to some upbeat songs.

-

The next day, Mark woke up, noticeably earlier than usual, and began to get ready for work. His wife, out on a business trip, tasked him with taking care of Joseph. Mark walked out of the room and went to wake Joseph up. Joseph, however, looked to already be up and playing with some toys on the floor. It looked like he made a tower of sorts.

Mark: Whatcha got there little guy? A tower?

Joseph smiled and babbled incoherently.

Mark: What an awesome tower! Did you know I'm trying to get this city a tower? Not just any tower, a lot of towers! I want them all to be on a special base, too, because they're very special towers. Maybe one day you'll get to see them, Joseph!

Joseph looked blankly at him and laughed a little.

Mark: You're very smart, Joseph! Would you like a cookie? I bet you would, come on, let's get breakfast.

Mark picked Joseph up and brought him to the kitchen, where he made oatmeal and vegan pancakes, complete with apples and bananas. While making them, Mark was singing various rhymes to Joseph, and teaching him (albeit hopelessly) how to make breakfast in an impromptu song. Mark was arguably a better cook than most; he could properly flip pancakes in the air and keep pasta from getting burnt. He was nowhere near the skill of his wife, but hey, he could dream.

With an inflection in his voice, Mark announced that breakfast was served. Laid out in a shatterproof plastic bowl with cartoons on it, Joseph dived face first into the bowl, getting oatmeal all over his face, as was customary for anything he ate. Mark, on the other hand, was astonished that his recipe turned out so well, especially for something he remembered from a cookbook that mysteriously vanished.

Joseph once again babbled incoherently, obviously happy. He grabbed a spoon and skillfully lifted some oatmeal into his mouth, once again smiling. Mark ate some bites of pancakes before walking over to the radio to play his morning news. It was 7:58, so the station was still airing some music, as per usual. He hummed along as the song began to end, enjoying the moment. As quickly as the song ended, the news began with the playing of Munijoch's national anthem, telling of the broadcast of the Munijoch News Network, a state controlled broadcasting station. Mark personally made sure that it was closely regulated by those within the government to ensure that the populace remains controlled.

Broadcaster: Hello, and welcome to the Munijoch News Network, where the news is all that we do. Today's big story, the President is signing off on the funding of two new research endeavors and the funding necessary for a new agency called SI:9, which seeks to keep us safe from the dangers of magic and heretical practices. Joining us now is the new head of the agency himself, Commander Lance. Let's give him a round of applause for putting time aside to make a much-appreciated visit here today!

Mark: Alright, seems like he actually listened and came on like I asked... How's your oatmeal Joseph?

Joseph was now pouring it onto the floor, using his spoon as a makeshift airplane attacking the bowl to make it tip further and further down. Mark looked on, panicked, and got up to clean the mess up. The interview went on in the background, with Lance talking about how the agency was for the "safety" of the citizens. After more talk about the state of trivial happenings within the country, Lance left, thanking the broadcaster for her time.

By now, Mark got back up from the floor after cleaning up Joseph's mess. Upset that he missed the interview, he sat back down, eating his pancakes hastily. And to think today was going to go so well...

-

Lance put his suit jacket on and shook hands formally with the broadcaster. She smiled and returned the favor, putting her clipboard down to have a casual conversation with him. She was ecstatic to meet him, as most any citizen was expected to be, and offered him coffee. He agreed and sat back down to wait for it. After all, how much could some time out of the office be?

Just as he finished this self-assuring thought, the lights went out in the studio, sending the stage into a panic. People were screaming and running for the exit. Lance realized the potential danger that might be in the room and began to follow suit, when he felt someone grip his shoulder. He turned around to see chromatic eyes staring him down from behind a golden helmet. A dome made of neon polygons now surrounded the two, crackling with energy. He could now see the figure more clearly; this was what Mark once warned him about, the one to end the WhiteBloods: the Visionary.

Visionary: Lance Klepton, former Munijoch President, and new head of SI:9.

Lance: Heh... I take it I'm well known, then?

Visionary: You could say that. You have information that is valuable to us, and your cooperation will save your life.

Lance: Oh sure, I'll cooperate. Come on, let's go.

Lance readied himself to be taken somewhere. The Visionary looked at him suspiciously.

Visionary: ...just like that?

Lance: You seem to get the idea, yes.

Visionary: Funny, I was expecting more of a fight from you.

Lance: Oh, I'm fighting alright, just needed some time.

Lance undid his watch to reveal a concealed bracelet with a Sequence on it. It was Destruction, and it was pointed right at the Visionary.

Lance: Hey, no hard feelings, yeah?

Lance pressed a bead to unleash the magic straight towards the Visionary. Panicked, she ducked down and dispelled the dome, sending the beam straight through several walls. She rolled to the side and quickly rose back up to counter with bolts of Cosmic magic, knocking Lance down onto the floor.

Visionary: I'm not done with you, Lance!

Lance: Yeah? Neither am I, lady!

Lance fired more blasts towards the Visionary, who was running at him using Life-Blood Rune enhancements. She jumped and conjured up a sphere as bright as the sun, a hallmark of Pyro-Life conjuring, firing it directly at him. Lance looked on with fear, sending another blast to dissipate it and forcing the Visionary to dodge it mid-air. She looked at him with aggression in her eyes-- she couldn't go easy on him anymore. With a grunt, she conjured a spear made of Cosmic runes, resembling constellations in the sky, and sent it hurtling towards him. Lance looked at her and sidestepped it, snickering. It landed straight into the ground and remained there.

Lance: You must be one smart cookie if you think I can't see such obvious attempts at impaling me, lady! I'll show you a proper way at taking someone out where I'm from!

Lance took out a Ruscan pistol and pointed it straight to her. With a grin, he began firing at her, hitting her straight in the chest. With a fist pump, Lance walked over to her.

Lance: Y'know, I was thinking Mark had a point to make about you; you're vindictive towards us for stealing your precious, two-bit glorified gasoline generator of an engine. But now, I see you for what you are, a pathetic heretic that can't accept the safety of our citizens from this menace. You are a stubborn fool for thinking you could kill me, and now you pay the price for it. Sorry, lady, but this was never my first call; you dialed it in.

The Visionary looked up and watched him with fearful eyes. Lance looked down with a menacing look on his face. The two held eye contact for a period of time before the lights came back on. Lance looked around, confused at what happened. The Visionary was notably gone.

Visionary: Mark told you about me, but failed to mention his own prowess, as per usual.

The studio quickly faded from view, with the lights above him turning to stars. He stood on an invisible platform that seemed to stretch on forever. In front of him, the Visionary appeared with dents in her body armor from the bullets. Her eyes were a dark purple.

Lance: What is this?!

Visionary: I am inside your mind, Lance. The spear was never meant for you; it was a link to allow me to escape and deceive you. Let's take things back to where we started.

She clapped, and the stage came back into view, with the Visionary now standing in front of him. She smiled and patted his back.

Visionary: I must applaud you for your use of the Sequence, it take a lot of courage to use it at it's full potential. I'll make sure this is painless.

Lance: You're... you're going to kill me?

Visionary: Oh goodness no! How barbaric!

The Visionary's eyes flashed to a shade of purple and light green as she waved her flipper over his temple, causing Lance to enter a deep trance. Before he could fall forward, she held him in one arm as she placed a tablet on the table. She carved in two lines, causing the tablet to glow and make the marks disappear. With all her strength, she lifted Lance up and carried him outside, soon teleporting away. All that was left was chromatic dust on the ground that was easily disturbed with the light breeze in the city.

Chapter Two: Condemnation
Mark: Missing?! I'll make sure he really is missing once I find out where he is! Get every single police officer on this, now!

Mark angrily hung up the phone, irate at the fact that Lance decided to go "missing." To think Mark trusted Lance, his most trusted supervisor and the former President, to lead such a prestigious agency! Not only that, Lance has now officially ruined his breakfast and lunch, with the danger of ruining his dinner if he doesn't show up soon.

Mark looked back at Joseph, now playing with his toys in the living room. The record player was playing classical pieces in order to encourage Joseph to create and play through music. It was one of Mark's favorite times of the day, and he savored every moment he could spend with Joseph while doing it. Mark's favorite thing to do would be play architect with Joseph and construct structures as they went along through placing blocks in turns. The goal was to never remove a block and adapt a design from it. Other times, Mark likes to teach Joseph math using the blocks, or spell out simple letters or words. Joseph often responded positively to this and went along with it, proving to Mark that he's being a fantastic teacher and parent. Vivian, on the other hand, would teach Joseph art styles and the history behind them, including their origin countries. Then, she would do crafts and make Joseph items such as fans, paper airplanes, or cut outs of various animals or vehicles. Color was also very important to Joseph, who absolutely loved the color red.

Just as Mark was about to get on the floor to play with Joseph again, the phone rang. Mark sighed and got back up to go and answer it.

Mark: Mark Lancord here, what's up?

John: Mark, it's me, John, I found a location we can use for the headquarters. Do you have the time to come and take a tour with me?

Mark: Oh, John! Uh, I think I should have the time. I can be right over if you want, I gotta drop the kid off first though.

John: Perfect, I'll see you then.

Mark slammed the phone let out a massive sigh. He put on his coat and walked over to get Joseph ready to go. The two got in the car and prepared to head off to the daycare with Joseph.

Mark tuned the radio to a more friendly radio station for Joseph, who was clapping as his dad weaved through the busy streets. He found a rattle and began to shake it in a close beat to the music. Mark giggled a little and kept his eyes on the road. Even in the most stressful of times, he could enjoy his little Joseph.

After dropping Joseph off at the daycare, Mark sped over to the location John set aside for the headquarters. Set in the middle of a grassy field with a decrepit driveway, the building looked discreet enough to be used, though required a lot of work to be usable by his agency. Conveniently, a runway was situated right next to the building, though that too needed some love and attention to be used again.

John looked on as Mark approached, taking in the location. The wind raced across the field and hit the both of them in the face, rustling their hair and clothes. Dust from the field also made its way across the stretch of land they stood on. Clearly, John had his priority set on making sure that this location was out of the way from anything that might jeopardize it, and for good reason, too: if this agency's true purpose is found out, another revolution might occur-- one they might not win.

Mark: I see you outdid yourself! Certainly made me walk a little bit to get here. So, what's the history with this place?

John: This was a former airbase and observation center from our more "active" times. The facility had several underground floors for both storage and communications tapping, as well as multiple levels of administrative offices for the branch of military this was in. It was mostly meant to be a proper headquarters for the entire military, but ultimately, no more than three or four floors were used. When we relocated all the headquarters closer to the city, this was ultimately shuttered, and for twenty years or more, abandoned. I found this while perusing our archives, actually.

Mark: Interesting. Any vandals we might need to worry about?

John: I had our team go through and flush out anyone that was in there, though I think they didn't find anyone.

Mark: Perfect then, let's go conduct a tour. Hope you got your hat.

John: Never leave home without it!

Taking metaphor literally, John put his hat on and walked a very disappointed Mark to the entrance.

-

If there was a feeling that Lance could convey, it would probably be fear. Though, he doesn't have to worry, as his trance hasn't worn off yet. Instead, he's probably feeling very happy right now, and potentially euphoric thanks to being caught up on sleep for the first time since he took his job in government. That being said, the room he is in lacks any resemblance to his state of feeling. The room Lance is in resembled more of a prison cell than most other cells that the Nightwardens have. For such a distinguished guest, Lance might have been offended at that subtle detail. For now though, Lance was being closely monitored, with the hope that he could provide useful information to aid the Nightwardens in their plan to infiltrate SI:9.

Across the blue energy barrier, a very anxious Visionary stood watching his every move. Waking him up might startle him and make him pass out, but if he doesn't wake up soon, he might not provide the information in time to help them.

As if on cue, Lance woke up on his stone bed, looking around and taking his situation in. As he did that, the Visionary entered the cell.

Visionary: As I promised, I don't practice barbaric acts of murder.

Lance: You really get on my nerves, lady. Where am I, anyways?

Visionary: A place where we hope to tell you the truth.

Lance: I told you the truth already, back at that studio! I don't think you get it through that helmet of yours! You're dangerous, heretical even! You could have me holed in the most secure prison or your mom's basement, I don't care, I still think you're nothing but a second-rate magician that's just upset they got fired from the local entertainer's union! I demand you release me!

The Visionary laughed, almost prompting her to take her helmet off. It's amazing how well the propaganda works not only outside the government, but also within.

Visionary: Lance, you don't understand it, but magic flows through and is within all of us. Some have the ability to convey it, and others simply don't. Our very nature of existence fuels the magic all around us. To eliminate magic is to eliminate us, don't you see the folly of your plan?

Lance: You're just full of it today, aren't ya? You can't persuade me otherwise!

Visionary: Perhaps I can show you?

Lance: Try me!

The Visionary got out a plate with ten circles interlocked in another circle. She approached Lance, who was confused and studying the plate.

Lance: Is this supposed to be a very advanced Venn Diagram?

Visionary: No. Place your flipper on there, and it'll show you what magic you're able to conduct should you have the ability to. It's not saying you can, but rather displaying what magic tends to get "stuck" leaving you as an energy.

Lance looked suspiciously at the Visionary and complied. A single ring lit up with electricity circling it.

Visionary: Proof enough?

Lance: You could have easily rigged that, lady! Show me the real action, do something that's proof enough for me!

Visionary: And how might I go about that? If I am just a "second rate" magician, wouldn't that mean nothing can satisfy your need for "proof?"

Lance: Well, I... erm... no!

The Visionary sighed and beckoned some knights to enter the room. The knight presented her with a golden ring. Another entered to watch.

Visionary: Perhaps this is proof enough for you.

The Visionary took the ring and pressed it against his temple. He saw the room go completely blue, with his life flashing before his eyes. His life in Rusca, his parents, the immigration to Munijoch, the propaganda, his friends that first showed him this "magic," the repressed memories of them being taken away by policemen dressed in white attire. His aspirations to get them back, soon corrupted to a grab for power. Mark's fake "sympathy" towards Lance for his loss, now echoing through his head like bell chiming in the night. He felt anger, remorse, disgust for what he did. He reached out, desperate to try and grasp his friend once more in a hug, only to never be able to reach her. If only he lied about using it, not her...

The Visionary sighed and took the ring from his temple. He looked past her towards the wall, holding back tears as he grasped the severity of the situation. She beckoned the Nightwardens to leave the cell again, walking them out and walking in his field of vision. She kneeled to get onto his level, careful not to get too close to his face. She felt his pain, but knew she had to be strong to not lose him.

Lance: W...Why did you do this...?

Visionary: To show you how you strayed from your path. We seek to make things right, to avenge people like your friend that suffer from the corrupt practices of this country. Imprisoning and making practitioners of magic "disappear" is by no means right. We can both change this, but we need your information and cooperation. Will you help our cause?

Lance looked at the Visionary, who now had no glow in her eyes. He got up and sat up on his bed, wiping a tear from his eye.

Lance: I'll tell you everything I know.

-

Mark and John finished viewing the rather funky-looking first floor and were making their way up to the second floor when they both heard voices coming from below them. Without hesitation, the both of them stopped in their tracks to listen carefully. It sounded like a conversation, but they couldn't be too sure. John heard muffled whispers, but to Mark, it was a taunting whisper that itched at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was worth investigating? After all, what could possibly go wrong?

Mark: I don't think your team did a particularly good job at clearing this place out, John. You know how I am about thorough work.

John: They swept every nook and cranny, I swear!

Mark: Eheh.

Mark slammed his cane to the ground to reveal its true form while the two did their own sweep of the building. The first three floors were clear, so that left only the basement's many floors. The two looked at each other and walked down the rusting, almost destroyed service stars towards the waterlogged service corridor of the basement, which ran parallel to the main floors. The light barely penetrated the corridor from above, so they navigated by the dull glow of Mark's staff. For Mark, they voices only got louder and louder, but for John, they still sounded muffled; he was beginning to think Mark truly lost it.

Mark: Listen closely... I hear them... It's just a matter of time, now.

John: Are you sure it's even a good idea to try and find out what it is?

Mark: If we don't then how can we be sure that it isn't any of our enemies? Plod on, John. Deal with it for a minute.

John gulped and continued onward towards the last door of the corridor on the basement's first sublevel. Mark took his staff and shot a blast towards the door, breaking it. The two peaked around and entered the decrepit room, filled with water above their feet and with desks still neatly aligned, some even with old monitoring equipment. While Mark swept the room, John walked up and clicked on a button with a satisfying thud. He noted that the desk also had a picture of a family on it. The glass was shattered, and there appeared to be signs of a struggle based on some marks on the floor heading towards the stairs; oddly enough, the stairs led down to the next level.

John: Mark, unless that staff of yours can absorb water, we can't go down further, it's flooded.

Mark: That's what they want you to believe.

Mark took the end of his staff and dipped it into the water in the staircase, waving it around. The end felt like it was in the air, giving Mark the confirmation he needed. He beckoned John to follow through the murky water and onto the next sublevel, which was oddly lit. In there, the grey carpet and white walls seemed reminiscent of a boring office building. The desks, however, had modern equipment strewn about. Mark looked at them with an air of suspicion as he walked up to them, fully expecting to walk through the desk. With a resounding crash, he didn't, and looked red. John snickered a bit while Mark wasn't looking.

Mark: I still hear the whispers though. There has to be another level that they could be coming from.

John: According to the blueprints, directly in front of you is another staircase leading to the next level, though I can't see why it's blocked off...

Mark: If it's for what I think it is, it makes all the more sense. Stand back, it's about to get crazy up in here.

Mark took his staff and blasted the wall multiple times. The energy began dissipating throughout the outlines of the brick used on the walls in white beams of energy. He then fired a sustained blast until the wall gave in, exploding in a purple ball of energy. The staircase, covered in dust, emerged from the rubble.

Mark: As I expected. Come, John, it's just a matter of time, now.

The two went down the stairs slowly and again peaked around the corner. The floor shone a deep blue, though an amber light flashed intermittently. Mark entered it and found it to be ancient, with two silhouettes in another room. The wall they were behind looked to be glass, but seemed to give off the glow that was in the room. Heart racing, Mark slowly walked closer and closer to the wall separating him from the other two, when something snapped on the ground. In shock, Mark leaped back towards the stair, the amber light now rapidly flashing. Another figure emerged, looked directly towards Mark, and pulled on something from that other side. Cracks appeared in the wall and all around Mark, with a bright light shining through it. Mark looked panicked, with John running back up the stairs. The floor's appearance then shattered, sending Mark flying back into the stairwell. When he got up, the floor now looked abandoned, as if nothing was ever there.

Mark: ...John?

John: Y-yes sir?

Mark: Were your men equipped with any oscilloscopes or electromagnetic spectrum detectors?

John: No, sir...

Mark: They had walkie-talkies?

John: Yes, they did.

Mark: Then that's why. Have the full spectrum cameras recording on this floor, and make sure they point to the walls. I don't want to give up on this property, because I feel it still has secrets to share. Come now, we have an agency to establish.

John wearily smiled and walked up the stairs with Mark. Mark was eerily quiet going back to his car; it wasn't every day that he hears Vivian's voice, but he knows exactly what it sounds like. He didn't know what to think, mostly because he was still trying to understand what happened. He was shaken and down for the count, but he knew now he had to find a way to destroy this newfound threat to his agency.

-

The alarms were sounding in the chambers of the Nightwardens. The Visionary, clueless to what was going on, walked out of the room Lance was in to investigate. She saw panicked knights running around, swarming and surrounding Entrance No. 9. She pushed them aside to figure out what was going on, only to see the crystal status bar above the entrance shine a deep red-- infiltrated, and closed. She trembled a bit and sighed, beckoning a knight over to talk with her about what just happened.

Knight: Well, Lady Visionary, we think... well, we think our entrance at Breach Nine has been found and broken by someone with magical prowess, but with hostile intentions. The only determining feature we saw were glaring yellow eyes.

Visionary: Mark...

Knight: In either case, we closed the entrance point, but we're unsure if they can try and infiltrate it again due to the remnant essence in the basement.

Visionary: How did he find it?

Knight: He likely broke through the illusions we made with a magic equal or greater in power to our own.

Visionary: The staff...

Knight: What are your orders?

The Visionary looked at the entrance and thought for a moment about what exactly she should do. It wasn't everyday that she encountered a situation this dire. That being said, she can't recall having to even fathom an event like this. She looked around and thought for a moment, before turning around and walking back to the room with Lance. After a short conversation, a few gasps, and a hushed laugh, she walked out, resolute and determined to enact her plan.

Visionary: We're going ahead with our plan to infiltrate the agency, though we're being a bit more direct with our plan. We're doing this tomorrow. We're going to let them find us. We're going to offer our services to them, because ultimately, by joining the enemy, we can keep magic safe and secure. If we support a revolution, we can overthrow this oppressive government and help a new one come to fruition.

The knights looked at each other and, in unison, knelt before her. Ultimately, this was the best plan they could muster up in these panicked times, and it would be this plan that either destroys them or saves them.

Both are a risk they will follow through to the end.

-

Lance entered the office, slightly limping and with crutches, the week after he went missing. The floor was silent and giving him sympathetic and confused glares. He had a cast support slung over his dress shirt, but discreetly covered by his suit jacket. He had several bandages wrapped around the top of his head, and he looked battered and bruised. Mark was just leaving his personal office when he saw Lance, dropping the book he was holding and running towards him. His anger turned into worry when he approached him, confused as to why he showed up looking like this.

Lance: Yeah, didn't really want to come in today, but it's free doughnut Monday.

Mark: We could've just sent them over! What in the world happened?

Lance: Paragliding incident. I reaallllyy don't want to explain it, as it involves an embarrassing story and a massive mistake on my part.

Mark: If you insist, I won't ask you to bring it up until our holiday luncheon.

Lance: Thanks boss. On the plus side, I think I have a lead for our agency you might want to follow. Rumor have it that there is a cave system on the right side of Munijoch that might be a hub of suspicious activity.

Mark: Should we investigate?

Lance: I think we should take this SI:9 agency thing out for a test drive and see if we can capture some magic users!

Mark: I like the way you think, Lance! We'll move out tomorrow!

Mark had to force himself to not pat Lance on the back to avoid further hurting him. Lance, on the other hand, staggered to the kitchen to help himself to some doughnuts. He wondered how Mark, of all people, fell for the fake bandages and limping, considering his super observant tendencies. Nevertheless, his mission is completed, and with a doughnut in his possession, he made his way to his office to relax for the rest of the day.

Chapter Three: Obsession
???: Mark? Mark... Mark! Wake up! We're under attack!

Mark woke up covered in ash and shoot. His desk was destroyed, and the office walls became increasingly singed as a fire raged in the next room. He heard the fire of guns and the sound of the bullets hitting metal. He got up and slowly walked over to the door frame, peaking over slightly at the outside hall. A legion of Nightwardens swarmed the building, spears by their side and holding his colleagues hostage. At the center of them was the Visionary, also wielding a spear, though covered in stars, astral dust, and constellations. She spotted him and began to walk towards him briskly.

Mark: Visionary! It doesn't have to be like this!

With no response she began to pierce the wall, funneling Pyros magic through the spear and setting them on fire. Mark jumped over his desk and grabbed his Staff, trying to shoot the Visionary with blasts of Abyssal Magic.

Visionary: You're so fast asleep, you can't even bother to open your eyes to what's right in front of you.

With a gust of wind, she ran right in front of Mark, attempting to grab him and take her with her legions. Mark slammed his staff and conjured a shield that blasted her away. Discouraged, she fired bolts of electricity towards him, trying to break it. It didn't even crack.

Mark: Leave us alone! You see now why you are the menace, not us?!

Visionary: I am like you! I am trying to protect what I hold dear! Unlike you, I don't cling to the very thing I abhor and look towards it as salvation! You are a hypocrite!

Mark: I am nothing but a visionary for the country!

With a twirl of his staff he sent his now collapsed shield towards the Visionary, who quickly sidestepped it. Looking tired, she backed away from Mark and left the room. With a beckon, she and the Nightwardens began to leave the building. She then set up a teleportation circle around all of them, and as the light began to turn them into silhouettes.

Snap!

John: Mark! Finally, you woke up! We're fully settled now into our office and are ready to ship our supplies in. I just need you to sign off on this.

Mark: W-What? What happened to the attack?

John: We haven't had one.

Mark: And the... her?

John: What do you mean her?

Mark looked confused at John and took the clipboard and pen, signing off on the supply crates. The office looked normal, as did everything else. Maybe it was all just a dream.

In reality though, this will go down as another nightmare.

-

The plan was set. The Visionary laid out a very accessible entrance to their headquarters within the basement of the abandoned building Mark and John toured. They positioned the entrance in an unused room, and filled it with mundane books and normal items to avoid potential pilfering from the WhiteBlood government. In there, she and two other Nightwardens would stand, "practicing" their magic. On the other side of a false wall, the rest of the Nightwardens would lie waiting should the WhiteBloods try and apprehend them. Mark, on the other hand, devised a plan to try and use the staff to warp the entrance's own magical field to allow his team to conduct a massive invasion of their headquarters. Their primary goal would be to simply confiscate all the artifacts, but Mark sought to deal with this "Visionary" once and for all. To that end, Mark brought along a rarely used piece of wardrobe: his war kilt.

Mark walked out of his office, face concealed save for his yellow eyes. His epaulets, forged from titanium and then anodized, refracted the light with rainbow sheen. He held his staff tightly, looking confident and ready for anything. John and Lance looked at him in awe.

John: Nice dress, sir.

Mark: IT'S A WAR KILT! A WAR KILT!

John and Lance snickered as Mark stormed off, disgruntled that everyone disrespects his war kilt. He entered the data room, where he had several monitors displaying data such as energy readings, seismic sensors, radar, and radiation from the abandoned building. An oscilloscope also played back any energy readouts that they then compared to previous encounters with magic users, though for the time being, it was not picking anything up. The seismograph was flat, with the magma tremors beneath Munijoch having been omitted through careful tinkering of the sensitivity of the tool. This made Mark discouraged, as they needed an indication that the entrance somehow reappeared in order to enact their plan.

Just as all hope seemed lost, the oscilloscope started showing and playing high pitched, rhythmic squelches, an indication that magic had been used. The seismograph began to detect light tremors in the area, confirming that something significant was happening below the ground. Strangely, neither the radar or the Geiger counter went off, disproving previous theories about how the magic manifested itself. Mark perked up, analyzing all the monitors before running out to set his plan in motion.

Mark: We got a hit! We leave in 3 hours!

John clapped, looking towards Lance with a concerned look. The two walked off to another room.

John: You really think he's going to try and take them all down?

Lance: No doubt about it, he's deranged.

John: What can we do about it then?

Lance: Well, what if instead of annihilating them, we simply assimilate them? Forge an unlikely alliance? It quells his obsession with them and allows us to gather intelligence. I'm sure we can offer something in return for their time and effort.

John: What did you have in mind?

Lance: You'll see.

The two went back to the room Mark was in, acting like they were getting their things in order for the great invasion of the Nightwardens compound. If everything goes according to plan, everyone will have their way.

-

Black, armored trucks tore a path through the dirt road leading to the abandoned facility. The roar of the engines drowned out any conversation that anyone tried to hold in the bed, much to the dismay of Mark. Accenting the noise was a helicopter that followed them, complete with attached miniguns in case things went awry while Mark was inside. Mark felt the truck take a hard left turn and he realized that they were here. Well, here being the mobile headquarters and monitoring station set up about five miles away; they would have to get to the actual headquarters on motorcycles. Mark kicked down a pair of steps and walked off it, taking his hood off to look inside the monitoring station. He never understood why they made them so dark inside.

Mark: Built to my specification, I see!

Scientist: Yes, sir, we made sure that the seismometers were placed within ten feet of the compound's foundation. We also calibrated our energy surge detectors to be extra sensitive, should anything happen. I would advise you take a walkie-talkie so that we can maintain a live communication channel with you at all times.

Mark: Right, right... How long until we can roll out?

Scientist: At the minimum, one hour to brief everyone.

Mark: Fantastic. Let me know when you're ready.

Mark wandered off to prepare himself, unknown of what exactly he might face in the basement. For all he knows, the heretics created some trap for him to fall into. For all he knows, this is a set up. It could even be futile; they might have moved their operations elsewhere. Mark stopped for a moment on his walk to a nearby coffee counter, paralyzed by this thought. What if this entirely blows up in his face, and he not only loses, he's (formally) declared insane? By then, all the people around him would be vying for his position, he knows it. He has to win this battle in order to keep both his position and his life.

Scientist: Sir? Sir! We're ready to go.

Mark: W-wha? Oh, good, let's get a move on then.

Mark, Lance and John got onto motorcycles and began to ride towards the abandoned facility where they found the Nightwardens. From afar, the facility appeared dark, but upon getting closer to the facility, it appeared to be in operation. Confused, the three of them accelerated faster towards the facility, unsure about what was going on. They parked their motorcycles next to the entrance and hid around its corner, with Mark grabbing his staff as a weapon to defend himself. The three looked around its corner, only to just see the moonlit environment stare back at it. They swore they could hear muffled music playing inside, but they thought this was just their minds playing tricks on them. Undeterred, the three opened the first set of doors and stepped inside the building. The floors looked shiny and the walls looked new, complete with cyan wallpaper accented with vertical stripes. By now, the music was playing clearly to them, eliminating any beliefs about their minds were deceiving them.

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Mark: What in the...

John: Who turned back the clock here? This facility looks like it never left the 1960's!

Indeed, John was right in that assessment. The desks looked like they were just bought, with even a warm cup of coffee letting off steam on one of the far desks. Above them, there was a faint humming sound, a tell tale sign of tape storage data servers being used. Mark continues to look around, confused but still intrigued. He beckoned the two to the stairwell so they can go to the basement. As Mark expected, the main stairwell was free of water. The three then emerged in the military communications room, complete with oscilloscopes and blinking lights as an indication of when a signal was passing through for the operator to connect the wire to. Strangely enough, they have not seen a soul yet. The music only got louder, though.

Mark: We have to take one more flight down, to the second level. That's right this way.

Lance: Mark, I'm not sure if that's necessarily the best idea.

Mark: Pull yourself together, Lance. We're about to make a breakthrough.

They got down to the second level, where the previously hidden staircase was now revealed. The music appeared to be coming from down the steps. Mark beckoned the other two to stay, while he alone went down the steps. He peaked around the corner to find a single radio placed on a table, along with two chairs and a lamp. Intrigued, he ventured forward into the room, only to have the wall shut in on him. Panicked, he tried to break the wall with an energy blast from the staff, only to find that the wall simply reflected his attacks. Mark sighed and simple sat down on the floor, waiting for his inevitable demise. Not too long after, two figures broke their way from the wall, revealing yet another room behind it.

???: You know, we put a chair there for a reason. Our sources tell us that you don't necessarily have the most resilient of backs in the country. Take a seat, Mark.

Mark: You know me?

???: I do, you aren't exactly discreet, you know.

Mark got up and walked towards the table. His staff shot itself from his grasp and into the grasp of one of the other figures at the table. The other switched the radio off and put it on the floor. They then both sat down. One of them had a mask on, concealing their facial features, the other simply was in the shadows.

???: Mark, what do you know about magic?

Mark: Well, I know that it's a terrible thing for people to use, and that it can only bring death and destruction to our glorious country.

???: Cut the propaganda out. Mark, what do you know about magic?

Mark: I told you, it's horrible!

???: Then I suppose you really don't like using it then, huh? Or, do you simply not want anyone else to use it, for fear of someone that can overpower you and your little organization.

Mark: I don't use it!

???: Explain this staff, then? With these fantastic Abyssal runes and inscriptions for... hm.... "augmented and adaptive release," it sure seems like you hate magic.

Mark's eyes widened. They clearly knew that the staff had a purpose. His cover might have been blown.

Mark: I have no idea what those are.

???: Sure you don't. Mark, do you know what magic even is? What Runes and inscriptions are?

Mark: I've never heard of those before.

???: Either you're really that dumb, or you're lying. Either way, allow us to explain.

-

One of the figures got up and picked up the radio. Two latches were then undone, revealing a set of stone slabs with ten, interlocking circles. Carefully, the figure picked one up and gave it to the figure in a mask, who then presented it to Mark, who looked at the tablet confusingly. He genuinely never saw anything like this, and was curious as to what it did.

???: Before we got further, place your flipper in the center. I want to see if my theory is true.

Mark looked apprehensively towards the figure and complied. He placed his flipper down, and felt a surge of energy go through him. One of the circles shone a very deep purple, and a miniature black hole formed. Smiling, he turned to offer a victory grin at the figure, only to see that to his horror, the black hole grew and was beginning to engulf the tablet. Sighing, the figure produced a bowl made of a light purple energy with stars mixed in, covering the plate with a light explosion within. Smoking came up from the lip of it.

???: An affinity for the Abyssal runes, I see. Parasitic in more ways than one.

Mark: I'm confused, what's this "Abyssal" mumbojumbo? What even is this?

???: You don't have to act confused, Mark. We know very well you know what everything here is.

The figure got up, revealing herself as none other than the Visionary. She sighed and produced a bucket, a biscuit, and a spinning axe. She set the bucket and biscuit down on the table and wielded the spinning axe.

Visionary: You know magic in it's most corrupt form, and as a tool merely for power. Magic is much, much more than that and simple party tricks.

The Visionary began to make the axe spin rapidly. The axe then began to glow different colors, ten in total.

Visionary: Thanks in part to the Infinite Engine's absorption and refraction of magic as a whole, we perceive magic in ten forms, called Runes: Pyros for fire, Electro for Electricity, Zephyr for the Wind, Aquos for Water, Cosmic for Space, Abyssal for Void, Arcane, and the trinity of power for this land: Life, Death, and Blood. With the right tools and skills, you can convey this power into various weaponry that act was conduits, or focus this power into powerful artifacts. I have three of these artifacts here. Pick that biscuit up and take a bite of it.

Mark looked at it and slowly picked it up, taking a sizable chunk off of it. The biscuit began to regenerate rapidly, and was noticeably warm.

Visionary: Disgusting right? The taste, I mean. Too dry for me. Try that bucket there, just dump it out. The artifact itself is in the water.

Mark got up and tried to dump the contents of the bucket. About five minutes had passed, and the three of them were sitting in a foot of water.

Visionary: Fantastic overkill for fires. This final artifact is a spinning axe that allows me to directly channel my power into it. The result is a weapon with limitless potential, hindered only by its age-induced fragility. It's no longer suitable for combat.

Mark looked in awe at the weapon. He wished everyone could have this weapon for an army.

Visionary: My point, Mark, is that you have merely scratched the surface of magic. You toy with Runes like they're building blocks for towers of power, not for good. But, in spite of all this, you and I have a common interest. You see, we too are after artifacts and users of magic that we deem "dangerous," in more ways than one. We would like to offer you our services.

Mark: And what would that be?

Visionary: In exchange for letting us maintain operations and house artifacts in total secrecy to both the WhiteBloods and this country, we provide you a place to house these deviants you and I pursue. This means less potential for these people to not only obtain such artifacts like you've seen, but also to keep your power at bay from usurpers. I believe this to be mutually beneficial.

Mark: What if I refuse?

Visionary: Well, you've seen what I can do. Try facing multiple.

Mark snickered and looked down at his feet. The Visionary made a very compelling point towards going with her plan. That being said, there were equal parts risk and benefit in this. How could he trust her, especially since she's never shown her face? For all he knows, she could be an illusion herself. What could she guarantee to him that would give him the trust?

Mark: I'll accept your offer, ma'am. But, I keep the staff.

The Visionary sighed and tossed it back to him, indicating that it was a deal.

Visionary: I look forward to working with you Mark. I'll make sure you and your friends are given an easy way out.

Mark: Wait wh-

WHOOSH!

With a bright flash, Mark, John and Lance were outside the building, which now looked decrepit and abandoned. John had a mug with coffee in it, while Lance was eating a candy bar.

John: Well then. Take it they weren't very enthusiastic?

Mark: Quite the opposite. We have a new work relationship, gentlemen.

Lance quietly smiled to himself, taking another bite of the candy bar. His risk had finally paid off. A chance to redeem himself.

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