Amelia Martin, Age: 26. Occupation: MMP Agent.

I can’t believe they’d send me down after it’s only been a day since they came in, but hey I guess they are good to their workers I’ll give them that. Once I'm done with this home checkup I can finally get back to some important work.

It would be faster if the snow wasn’t so thick. I look to make sure there is no one around. I hum to myself until I hear a tone invade my head and synchronize with it. I lift my leg up and on top of the snow, instead of it sinking in, I am able to climb to the top layer and walk comfortably. This is so refreshing. For the heck of it, I decide to skip. Skipping through the streets along the avenue’s, and in the alley ways, it’s so fun when no one is around when it’s like this. I assumed I was perfectly alone.

I hear a faint murmuring, coming from the building to my left. That’s the place I’m supposed to check on. Stupid, I’ve been too confident, I should remain quiet as I approach, incase there is any real danger. I arrived right in front of the building.

I stick my gloved hand into my pocket. I pull out a note. “5B”. Ok no sign of infiltration, but I still hear the murmur, I can’t quite make it out, but it’s getting louder. I take a step up and the stair squeaks, the murmuring stops, I bite my cheek, shit did I mess up?

The murmuring continues again, ok this’ll be fine. I continue up the steps, but this time altering my weight to make myself silent. On top of the steps, it sounds less like murmuring, and more like… pleading.

I continue forward. “2B”, It’s louder. “3B”. Its louder “4B”. It sounds painful. “5B”.

I can finally make out their words, repeating over and over. The murmuring, the pleading slowly, and increasing volume of “WHY” .

I shudder and instinctually take a step back. You don’t need to be an MMP agent to know, there is meaning behind those words, and there will be a rude awakening to anyone who disturbs them. I start to leave, but wince. It is my duty, I cannot write it off. My hand reaches to the doorknob. The whole way there the “Why” goes from a whisper to a word to a cry. “Why, Why! WHY”. I turn the knob, it stops again.

I open the door wide enough to peek my face through, and immediately feel a gust of wind followed by a white object that could only be caught in the image of a blur. It slams into the stair railing behind me. A paper airplane, a simple paper airplane, that left a neatly sliced cut on my cheek. When I look in, the sight I see is unforgettable. A man on the floor sitting over a body, a puddle of tears lay as thick as the blood smeared on the dead man’s face.

The dark haired head turns slowly like a puppet with gears, unnatural. It faced me while still holding the body. Being in the MMP is a dangerous job, once you know there is magic involved you should know there is a chance of injury, a high chance of injury. After going through so many rough and sad situations I thought all the fear had drained out of me.

This scene brought it all back. The bags below his eyes lay heavier than the blizzard outside. His pupils are black, but feel deep, he looked hollow. A single word leaves his lips that still echoes in my head even though I ran away about an hour ago. “Why”.

3 Months Later

Remus Maron, Age: 23, Occupation: Unemployed.

Where others might falter, I step forward.

Where others might give up, I seek opportunity.

When others might worry about morality, I say who gives a shit.

Everything is perspective. I could be wrong, but how would I know? I see my actions as obvious, and justified. The perspective is distorted, the idea could be short-sided, but I cant do nothing.

For the first time in almost three months, I don’t visit my father’s grave. Instead, I shop. Carefully I pick through the coat racks. I see it, thats the one I want. Sleek black suit, with a crimson collar.

Witht the little money I have left, I buy the suit. On my way out I slip on a single daffodil. It’s yellow petals indented into the concrete path. I have no time to Mourn it, I’m going to be late for the interview.

It’s time to get my job back, but not quite.

I pass by all the shops I used to se on my daily commute. I stop for a second, and peer through the window of the candy shop, seeing the big colorful lollipop. I continue walking.

Around the corner, I pause again as I hear a familiar word from the news channel in an electronics store, “Maron Apartments”. It’s taken this long for the news to get out, that's the MMP for you.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The newscaster continues reading the script.

“Two found dead at the scene of the crime, identified as Daniel Maron, and Remus Maron.”

My cheek tugs at the left side of my lip.

That’s also the MMP for you, do you a small favor so you won’t go telling everyone about magic.

I also asked them for one more small favor. A retrial of the field agent exam. After what Amelia Martin witnessed, they had little claim to deny me the right.

In order to be able to be accepted, I have to put on a face. An unbreakable one of allegiance. They wouldn’t have dared to do what they did if they knew how petty I am. I will fit in, I will watch every detail, and I will become one of the suited agents. That is if I pass the exam.

Once i’m close enough to the range of the space, I shuffle through my pocket. They have given me a new penny. It leads to the specific exam subspace that can’t be accessed unless you have an approved transmitter. The way these pennies can be given specific transmission zones is through the ridges around the coin, they manipulate a pattern of cuts in the coin with different amounts of space between them, to represent, well, space.

I flip the coin up and fall forward, this is where it starts.

The fall was quick. I’m suddenly in a room with an atmosphere that feels nearly identical to that of a library. Complete silence, except from the person who just walked in. Multiple heads turn in my direction. I must put on a face. I put on a smile that looks faker than my leather shoes, I hope it will cut it.

Heads turn away, ok I guess we just wait. The setting feels much different than I remember. It's like the difference between common core math and traditional math. It leads to the same product, but the way of going about it is different.

“Ok People”. A voice says from the other end of the large crowded room.

“We will be handing out number cards. When you hear yours called, walk toward the door on the east side of the room”. I look for the door, then I see everyone else's head facing the other direction. Fit in I said.

“Through that door there will be a quick exam, if you don’t cut it, you may either try to apply for an office job, or leave. If you do manage it, you will receive an official agent penny, and an alias”.

An alias? Who knew being in a classified government program was so pretentious.

They start handing out cards, I look at the crowd around me.

I can barely make out the faces, they all look so boring. Except for a couple, a short girl with dark makeup, two long braids, and obviously didn't get out of the blue hair girl phase yet. Two men standing together, looking like they should be playing dungeons and dragons rather than government affairs, and an inconspicuous girl right next to me, who should either breathe softer or brush her teeth more often, if at all.

Other than that, I can only make fun of myself, I wish I stuck out like a sore thumb, but I only blend into the crowd, another face to be looked over and forgotten, I hope they don’t see me that way.

After a good 5 minutes of handing out cards, they finally reach the back and give me one. A thick white piece of paper as big as a postcard, with simple gold lining all around it. Right in the middle of the card printed in bold. 134.

As not to be unfair to people who were late. Cough.

They did it kind of like bingo, which again, I thought funny for such a serious event. Balls with numbers were drawn in 3’s, and people entered, and never came out. They either left, or continued somewhere further.

As it took quite a long time to test about 150 people, it slowly became a convention of sneezes and soft rustling. “27, 58, and 134”, finally. By the time they roll out my number it’s been near an hour, only about 20 people were left in the room roaming around the empty space.

The two others who stepped forward, 27 and 58, was a blonde man, who could’ve passed off as a highschool, and someone I’d seen earlier. Big blue hair with two long braids. I walk up to the three agents holding the exam, and hand one of them my card. He raises an eyebrow at me.

“What?” I say.

“You just look very… awake, compared to others”.

“Funny, i've never heard that before”.

Truly I haven’t, normally quite the opposite. The door leads inward, but turns a corner so I can’t see inside. We walked in a line like troops, we were so in unison you might’ve thought it was choreographed. There was a table, a box, and a clock ticking down from 10 minutes. The blonde man from earlier reaches into the box and grabs another one of those notecards, he reads in then looks back at us.

The blue haired girl walks closer to him. “What does it say?”

He remained silent, then he released the notecard from his hand and it fell to the ground.

The print: “Kill Eachother”.

Ok well this is obviously fake, who would believe a protection agency would make us fight to the death? Only an imbecile would believe that-

All he does is raise his hand up to his hip, with his palm facing upward.

The room felt heavier. The man’s hand clenched into the shape of a fist. He closed his eyes for a moment. While they were closed his fist started turning blue, colder and darker until it froze with jagged icicles at the ends.

Rather than fear, the thought that crossed my mind as he lunged at me, and blue hair lunged at me was, “Are you kidding me”.

Both their attacks aimed toward me, and both fell back after they were inches from my face.

They looked down at their hands, the whole front was covered with shallow and deep slices.

I slap my palm to my face and say aloud,

“Why did you think that would work?”