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“You’ve been demoted.”

Agatha tapped hear earpiece through her deep leather hood, “The hell did you jus—“

“—And if I get any attitude or disrespectful remarks, I’ll do my best to make your demotion permanent, you hear me, Crone?!”

“You listen me, you deep-greased weasel…..” She trailed off. Her ear piece buzzed mechanically as it glitched and sputtered out of function. “Son of a….. glitch.”

At the same time, business tycoons and teenagers alike lost connection on their phones. The street lights directing traffic flows at the downtown intersection flashed at random. A Honda t-boned a pick-up truck at thirty miles per hour and sent shards of glass rolling across the street.

Within the commotion, Agatha remained. Less human and more statue-like in her massive stillness. Just a cloak and moving eyes.

She combed through the crowd, senses lit ablaze like a trained hunting dog catching a scent.

She would’ve ran if she was a rookie. She would’ve cut through the crowd and brandished her weapons to make the search easier— worse most likely.

Thankfully though, her leash wasn’t made of cloth.

It was made of years. Years of blood sweat and experience. And more blood. Getting old makes you slow.

She embraced her physical atrophies, letting the chaos come to her.

It was the first tell. The interruption as aspects of Mana entered Earth.

There was a SpellCaster among them. Someone who entered the Plane of Mana and listened to the chaotic whispers that rode the winds. Returning to the earthly plane with a Spell. Sometimes they came in the form of objects— unique materials and souvenirs. Other times they came as spoken word from an unknown language.

That didn’t matter.

Her job as SpellHunter didn’t require that knowledge. She just needed to take down the Caster.

“There you are.”

Further up the block clouded by people on their lunch break, a hooded male in sweatpants weaved through the chaos like a knitting needle. He was swift. Inhumanely so as he used his magical gifts to pickpocket everyone wearing an outfit over two hundred dollars in price.

His ghostlike hands fazed through coats and purses, reemerging with handfuls of cash and wallets effortlessly. As he fled, he moved over the concrete with zero friction.

Agatha threw back her hood, revealing her wild mane of nappy grey hair as she brandished her badge, “FREEZE! On behalf of the CPD, You’re under arrest for the illegal attainment and usage of Rogueing Spells without proper licensing!”

The young thief was startled by her scratchy booming voice. He tripped, parting the crowd of people like the seas.

Quickly, he recovered, getting back on his feet and diving into the many alleys that split the urban hellscape of buildings lining the streets.

The chase had begun.

Agatha was already on the move. Some would curse her previous actions. Officers weren’t supposed to initiate chases on foot. Thankfully, she was no regular officer. Double thankfully, her plan had reasoning.

Rogue’s didn’t do well with combat spells. Everyone who could enter Mana had affinities. She could afford to be brash and startle a Rogue SpellCaster, they weren’t terrorists that could turn into living volleys of poisonous lightning. Usually. They were thief’s who overinflated their capacity to escape their crimes.

In terms of operating on a totem pole, Rogue SpellCasters existed at the bottom.

Small fry.

Agatha turned on her heels, just shy of the crosswalk where crashed cars laid and dove into the alley. As soon as she entered the shadows, she ripped off her leather trench coat.

Her knight edition Riot-Armor felt better untethered. The twin swords sheathed at her back bounced as she sprinted as fast as a car on the highway. She left the blades as they were. They weren’t needed.

The SpellCaster spared a glance back at her once as he sped down the alleyway. He had the same face as many others.

He saw something inhuman.

A seven foot tall muscle-bound old woman wearing military grade armor and wielding modernized medieval weaponry. That was before adressing the colored eyes and glowing veins as power surged.

“Dios mio—“ The SpellCaster turned and ran straight up the wall. As he passed windows looking into the apartments, lights flashed and exploded as televisions short circuited and stereo’s boomed.

“You reckless, idiot! I said freeze, dammit!” Agatha yelled before taking a series of massive steps, preparing to leap forty feet into the air to catch the criminal—

“Nope. Nevermind, I don’t got that.” Agatha skidded to a stop in the alley, rubbing her sore lower back.

She looked around the alley as the SpellCaster neared the roof.

“Hey dummy! I gave you two warnings. Now you’re gonna stink up the precinct. That actually works in my favor.” Agatha reached down for the metal trash can beside her and threw it.

The object full of foul trash flipped through the air and crashed into the SpellCaster right as he passed the fifth floor.

He flew off the wall and fell, covered in wet garbage juice and brown banana peels.

Before he could hit the ground and splatter like an egg, Agatha caught him.

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“What the hell is wrong with you?!” The thief snapped at her as she straightened him out and restrained him.

“Boy…” Agatha pinched his ear lobe.

“AAAOUCH—“

“That’s no way to talk to a lady, Mr…..Green? No that’s not you. You’re not six foot. Mrs….. Abrams? No, the pat down told me you’re not a female either. Ok, who are you SpellCaster?” Agatha questioned the cuffed runner as she rummaged through his stolen goods hidden in his pockets.

“I’m nobody.”

Agatha rolled her eyes and slung him over her shoulder, “Teenagers….”

With the internet and electrical connection working again, she tapped her earpiece back into function.

“I’m on my way back to the precinct, Fitz.”

“WHERE!?! Have you been?!” His voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

“Chasing a perp. Now keep my seat warm. I’ll be there in five.” She took out her ear piece and tossed it into the trash can on her way out of the alley.

***

Chicago wasn’t a big city. But it was busy. It never slept. Cars whizzed by at all times. Crimes surged when the sun fell. Businesses boomed, profiting off whatever transpired wherever that may be.

Agatha and the Rogue made it to the South-Chicago Police Department by late day.

As she mounted the steps up to the brick and glass skyscraper, trains on subway systems rattled by overhead, twisting around the modern spire of justice. Officers at the end of their shifts passed by, mean mugging the Rogue before deflating at the scent of garbage wafting from them both.

“Crone.” An Officer nodded.

“Whoever you are.” She nodded back.

When she made it inside, the air took on a chemical cleaner smell.

Their boots sullied the recently cleaned grey tile floors. She could hear a janitor curse in the distance as she passed the front desk worker and entered the elevator, heading down to the basement.

The Rogue tapped his feet to the elevator music. Jazz. He was offbeat.

Or maybe it was nerves. No jazz.

“I thought MEO’s were disbanded.” He suddenly said.

Agatha raised an eyebrow at him, “You know what I am?”

“I don’t think giants with swords and glowing veins are a mystery to anyone anymore, lady— cmon!” He flinched as Agatha flicked his previously pinched ear.

“I don’t have time for attitude, boy. You know what I meant.” Agatha replied as they continued to rocket down deeper into the precincts dungeon.

“Y-yes. I know. Mana Empowered Operatives. I had an old friend in grade school. His mom was one….. he was a military kid. He moved around a lot. But he told me things.”

“She was able to have a son. Lucky girl.”

“He was adopted.”

“Not so lucky.”

The elevator cringed to a stop on rusted wires before the metal doors swung open and gave way to hell given structure.

“Oh my god…”

“Oh, grow a pair.” Agatha shoved him out of the elevator and walked him into the holding area.

Processing cubicles with burned, frozen and disfigured metal chairs sat in clusters. Seating areas filled with cuffed criminals occupied the back half of the room. Armed policemen surrounded them, walking along a massive glass wall centered by a glowing rune.

The only rune the public had any sort of clearance for.

Protection.

On the other side, massive steel holding cells housed men and women in chains.

They looked normal until you viewed them at the right angle.

Under the right lighting.

Then their eyes glowed. Some went slitted like serpents. Others spontaneously grew beards— men and women, and snarled at Agatha. Some even burped fireballs and itched patches of thick bladed scales.

“More Werewolves than usual. Must’ve been an outbreak somewhere.” Agatha noted before approaching one of the processing desks.

“Hey— you can’t budg—“

“Shut up.” Agatha said without looking back at the cuffed perp who was next up among the dozens of others.

“Name?” The desk worker asked without looking up.

“….”

Agatha’s jaw flexed a dozen times as she lifted her calloused hand and rested it on his shoulder. He stiffened.

“Marcos Rubio.”

“DOB?”

“Twelve, fifteen, fifty-seven.” Marcos replied.

“Thank you, have a seat.”

Agatha dragged him over to the seating section. As she approached the front row, she lifted a bald burly man in a biker jacket and shoved him to the back before putting Marcos in the seat.

“You’re trying to get me killed, aren’t you? But like… legally.” Marcos whispered.

“There’s easier ways. And I don’t kill kids. Leave that to the politicians.” Agatha turned away from him and headed back for the elevator.

Now alone, she took the time to tie down her hair and stretch her tired muscles.

A symphony of cracks fell in tune with the rock music blasting from the speakers overhead.

She found her reflection looking back at her in the spotless metal.

Her figure was distorted by the blend. Slimmer and dulled. Lacking definition. Just height, purple eyes, dark skin and nappy white hair in a bun. Her armor was just a black shell tied down by Velcro and lace.

“Demoted.” She scoffed as the elevator opened.

The top floor was all business. Men in priceless suits traveled in and out of slim carpeted hallways swapping out holstered guns for folders full of papers with infinitely more stopping power.

They looked her way and cringed as she stepped out smelling like roadkill warmed over. Some whispered to their collegues behind desks and glass walls.

If she jumped at them fast enough they’d spill their expensive coffees all over their pretentious desks. The thought made her laugh.

She entered the commissioners office, blue eyed, covered in trash juice and smiling.

“If it isn’t the dutiful Officer Crone.” His English accent was as crisp as winter morning air. Crisper than before.

“Fitz.” Agatha replied. He sat with his back to the massive wall of spotless window. The city bathed in evening light spread at his back as if he was some boy king of a corporate fantasy world.

Because that’s what he was. A boy. A weasel. A chameleon in a tie. All the anger he had over the ear piece was gone— as if it was never there. His perfectly cut fade was gelled down and combed to perfection. He barely looked older than twenty-five.

Apparently he got the job from his performance in a big bust in Europe. They slayed a dragon in something called Operation Pendragon. But he was no Arthur.

She almost scoffed again.

“Please, come sit.” He gestured a callous-lacking hand to the seat opposite his desk.

Agatha walked over, boots crunching over the hard carpet. She pulled her sheathed blades off her back and took a seat, using them as a cane on the way down.

“Bad knees? I heard you used to play basketball. Let me guess, power forward?” Commissioner Fitz jabbed. His eyes were too close together on his face.

“You’re not funny.” Agatha plopped into the seat and spread out with a sigh.

“On the contrary, you’re a bit of a stiff.”

Agatha looked around the room, “Uh-huh.”

“I assume you know why you’re here— even with the reception issues from your….” Commissioner Fitz scrolled through his notes on his desktop, “Rogue…? Nice catch.”

“Let’s cut the subtleties, get on with it, I have reruns to watch.” Agatha replied. “Acting like you don’t talk like a completely different person when I’m not close enough to grab you by the throat and wring you o—“

“Very well.” Fitz sighed and adjusted his gold tie. Literally gold. “As you know, you made a mistake three months ago. Big mistake. If you were a human, you would be jailed—“

“Human?” Agatha questioned. The arm rest of her chair crumbled in her grip. She calmed and dusted her palm off on her knee.

The commissioner swallowed, “Technically speaking, you and your kind are labeled as government issued assets.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Anyway, because of this… loophole, I cannot fire you. MEO’s can’t be aimless and in anything other than service jobs. You specifically also can’t be a personal guard to anyone of importance since you’re a bit of a brand risk. Officer Crone, you’re stuck here. But until I say otherwise, you’ve been demoted from the SpellHunters Special-Ops Division. Is there anything you’d like to say?”

“Your tie sucks.”

“Very well. If that’ll be all, I’ll need your badge, SpellSlashers, and Anti-Mana Firearm.” Commissioner Fitz replied. She could almost see the cruel gleam in his dull brown eyes. His kindness was a porcelain mask she wanted to atomize with her fists on impulse.

She stood, dropping her forty pound swords on his desk, along with her firearm and badge. She expected it to hurt. She’d woke up every morning and grabbed them out of her closet for the last twenty years.

Perhaps she was tired of them.

She felt nothing.

And his eyes were still smiling. He had it out for her ever since he was elected. It wasn’t rare. Super-soldiers terrified people. Others though, got jealous.

She knew the look. She knew how it ate away at him that he couldn’t openly disrespect her face to face. The law wouldn’t allow her to go to prison so everything other than ripping his face off was fair game. To a point.

She didn’t have her swords anymore, to hell with points.

“Oh one other thing, you’ll be working traffic duty effective immedately. Your partner is downst—“

“Hold on…” Agatha raised her trimmed greying eyebrows and shut her eyes, “Hold on… I gotta sneeze.”

“Oh, ple—“

“CHOO!” Agatha keeled over, slamming her fist through his computer and cracking his desk. The weight of her swords already there caused the crack to spread until it caved in entirely.

Papers and coffee spilled all over his lap. The cruel smile left his eyes.

“Oh, man…. My bad, Fitz. Allergies, silly me.” Agatha reached over to him and pulled the handkerchief out of his breast pocket. She blew her nose in it and tossed it in the trash on the way out.

“His name is GRANT WARLICK!” Commissioner Fitz replied, maintaining his calm before exploding into a screaming rage as she shut the door and left his office.

“Uh-huh.” Agatha replied as she stepped into the elevator once more. Now without her swords and badge, her shrunken reflection looked even smaller.

She deflated.

“Dammit.”

***

Grant Warlick was an enigma.

She wouldn’t have been surprised if Commissioner Fitz made him up just to send her on a wild goose chase. He wasn’t in the database or known by anyone.

Grant Warlick didn’t exist.

Or, even worse, he was new.

She gave up searching the main floors and entered the men’s locker room.

“Hey! hey! Crone, what are you doi—“

“Quiet, boy. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Agatha picked up a towel off the wooden bench stretched down the walkway and threw it at the naked officer.

The others hushed at her demeanor and missing badge.

“Grant Warlick?! You in here? Hurry up I don’t have all day.” She yelled over the steamy spirals in the air. It smelled like cheap cologne, medicine and commercial bar soap.

The lockers hid the rest of the officers in the other aisles.

Nothing.

She cleared her throat. The veins there bulged and glimmered in shades of yellow, “GRANT!”

The officers next to her flinched and covered their ears. Cursing her enhanced volume.

Suddenly, the showers stopped. The officers left as more steam poured from the white porcelain cleaning chambers.

“You got some lungs on you lady.”

“For a new guy you sound old as hell.” Agatha said as she leaned up against a locker, facing the showers entrance.

“Side effect of my biology.” The man stepped out, breaching the wall of steam to be witnessed in all his glory. The same could be said in reverse as he made a look of fake surprise at the sight of Agatha, “Damn, grandma. Is this a police precinct or a professional wrestler retirement home?”

Agatha sighed and threw her head back, denting the locker with her skull.

“Yes, yes. I know. I’m a Goblin, don’t get too excited, granny.”