C14: Detective Leo (Case Closed)

A/N: I've noticed some comments talking about Leo being nerfed, but he's not. I merely want to show him getting these Spells. Some are bound to get offscreened, but most of them I want to show him getting them.

— — — — —

Instead of letting Oswald go home, I compel the exhausted detective to accompany me. I can bypass the receptionist and the manager once, but they'd eventually grow suspicious if my 'dad' just never showed up, so I need him to play the role.

As for the stark contrast in appearance and overall attractiveness, it is a non-issue. I can always claim I take after my mother. And for his absence, I've already provided a reasonable explanation in my backstory as the child of a workaholic who's too preoccupied to care for his young, but understanding child. Oswald's natural 'resting-bitch' expression is perfect for the part too.

"Why the hell do I have to do this again?"

The detective grumbles, easing up on the brake as we pull up to a red light. "'Cause I can rip your head clean off your shoulders? And I have a feeling you'd rather keep it attached."

I retort, my tone airy, yet threatening nevertheless.

The detective snorts dismissively. "You know, these threats of yours are starting to get a little bit old. They're becoming about as predictable as that saccharine and fake smile of yours too."

I let the grin fade from my face as I fix him with a frigid stare.

"Would you prefer I be more... Unpredictable, then?"

"Whoa, whoa, hold up! You need me to play the part of your old man, don't you? You can't go knockin' me around."

The detective protests, raising his hands defensively.

I decide not to press the issue further.

While toying with him can be entertaining, I'm not so petty as to beat him up over something so trivial, but I do need to keep him on edge... Throughout history, many rulers have gone for either fear or adoration. In my opinions? Both are necessities.

A true King cannot motivate through fear alone—they may compel, but never truly inspire. A ruler who relies solely on fear is nothing more than a tyrant; one who shall invite rebellions in every corner... Yet, a King who is adored by all is merely a figurehead, a puppet to satisfy his subjects' every whimsical desire.

The ideal is a carefully-crafted and maintained balance, in which fear is the primary driver and adoration the supporting element.

As we speak, I'm trying this on the detective—instilling a sense of dread in him, while also conveying my own Humanity, so that he may see me as a fellow being, and not just a force to be feared. "I'm curious though, are you really a kid?" Oswald inquires as the light flickers to green.

I offer him a smile, one that fails to reach my eyes, "What if I am, and what if I am not?"

The barest hint of amusement seeping into my voice.

The detective's face pales as he replies, "Nothing… I just–I don't get it. Why would some secret society of Superhumans send a child to handle a serial killer? I would expect someone a bit more…"

He trails off, searching for a word that he probably hopes won't upset me, before settling on, "Experienced."

There's a touch of uncertainty in his tone, clearly unsure how to approach the situation.

I can see the unease in his posture, the way his eyes dart around the car, looking for any sign of danger—any sign that may signal the coming of his end, yet beneath all of it hides a deep-seeded curiosity that can only be found in scientists and detectives;

People who instinctively seek the Truth, the same way Shirou—almost every variant of him pursues heroism.

"Has no one ever told you? Curiosity kills the cat." I warn, my tone carrying a subtle edge that causes Oswald to shiver. His jaws clench, hands tightening on the steering wheel, yet the detective continues to press. "C'mon! You are showing me a whole new world here! Just give me something!" The desperation in his voice is palpable, his hunger for knowledge seeming to have overidden any sense of caution the man had previously.

"Throw me a bone here!" Oswald pushes.

"I was molded to eliminate targets with the utmost precision and efficiency." I throw him a casual shrug, offering just a tantalizing glimpse to stoke his curiosity, but holding back the full story. "I'll be fine. Furthermore, a child is a lot more inconspicuous."

"A child soldier." The detective mutters, eyeing me with a mix of resignation and disbelief. "I've seen kids used as mules many times, but this... It's certainly new one."

He shakes his head, his disapproval remaining unspoken yet is deafeningly loud, still. "Most of us don't differentiate children and adults… Only competence matters, and I'm way more than a 'child soldier.' Child soldiers don't get a choice, I do. They are paid in nickels and dimes, while I get paid the equivalence of a normal person's annual salary every mission."

"So, that's why you're doing this, for the money?" He furrows his brow, the confusion audible in his tone.

"No, not exactly…" I reply. "The money is certainly helpful, but my goals go beyond just wealth. It is the reputation I'm after; it is the experience." And hopefully a better-looking resumé once I finally decide to join the larger World of Magi.

"What a miserable existence…"

He mutters, his voice lowered deliberately to try and keep me from overhearing. But I catch it nonetheless.

"Why do you say that?" I ask, brows knitted.

He scoffs. "You're throwing yourself in harm's way for fame. What could be more miserable than that?"

I snort disdainfully at his response.

"I could say the same about police forces around the world. Besides, it is not merely fame I seek—fame is merely a means to an end. It is greatness I'm after."

"What constitutes greatness to you?"

A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I listen to his response.

"Serve me well, and perhaps I'll show you true greatness."

The man's voice hitches, fear lacing his words as he breaks out in a cold sweat. "I… I don't like the sound of that. You will let me go once you've dealt with the killer, right?"

Detective Oswald glances at me, swallowing hard, already preparing to swerve into another vehicle to escape, given how his hands are positioned on the steering wheel. "I won't kill you unless you give me a reason to, if that's what you're asking, but I do have an use for you. I'm looking to set up a network, and who better to recruit than the 'esteemed' detective of the Montreal Police Force?"

Another crimson light casts an unsettling glow over us as we approach the intersection. Detective Oswald turns to me, his expression tense. "Look, I've gone above and beyond for you already. I just want to go back to being a regular detective. Plus, if I agree to work under you, it's only a matter of time before someone uncovers the truth, and if that happens, I could be dishonorably discharged. Now, that might not mean much to you, but if I end up behind bars and get interrogated…"

He leaves the thought hanging, the implication clear.

Quite intelligent of him, to appeal to the benefits rather than goodness. A real shrewd move, I must admit, though ultimately one that carries very little weight. "I'll break you out."

"Look—" Oswald starts, but I cut him off.

"Can you honestly say you're content as a run-of-the-mill detective? I'm gifting you an opportunity like no other—a chance to be a part of something greater… Much greater than you can possibly imagine. Most would have eliminated you to rid themselves of a witness, but I see potential."

"I'm—!" He falters, then resumes, his voice dropping. "I'm content."

"I need you to meet my gaze and say it… If you do, we can close this discussion. I won't bring it up ever again."

He is unable to do so, for we are both aware that all men possess an instinctual urge for greatness—we're drawn to it like moths to a fire. Regardless of one's attempts to reject it or bury it under layers of baggage and drugs, that impulse will forever persist. The cars behind us honk as the light switches to green, yet Oswald doesn't seem to hear them, let alone notice the changing light.

"Welcome aboard, Detective Oswald."

I grin, deciding to make the decision in his place. "From hereon forth, you are under my jurisdiction."

The rest of the ride to my hotel is quiet, but internally I'm shivering with excitement.

Fans are good, but subordinates are simply better, and I just got my first one!

"Here we are. Hôtel Gault."

We walk into the hotel, and the receptionist and manager immediately approach my 'father' for a casual chat.

They try to keep the conversation from me, but super hearing is just the darnest thing. "Sir, can we have a word with you?"

"Yes?" Confused, Detective Oswald stares at them in clear confusion, before turning to look at me, wide-eyed.

"Sorry, but could you spend more time with your child? He's a great kid, and while I know it's not really our concern, I think you should—" And thus, the detective endures a lecture for nearly half an hour for being a, and I quote, 'irresponsible slob'.

Their words, not mine.

As we ride the elevator to the upper floors, Oswald's face is as dark as the bottom of a regularly-used pot, his brown hair damp from the sweat he had shed. For a fleeting moment, I even notice a sprinkle of white strands on his head.

"What on earth did you tell them?"

Oswald's eyes bore into me, a mix of weariness and exhaustion oozing from his posture.

"Nothing much," I say, trying to sound nonchalant. "I just mentioned that I'm the son of a businessman who's hardly ever around. I didn't delve in the details."

"Please never ever make me do this again."

"No promises."

For the following hour, we try to piece together the puzzle of these crimes, but it doesn't add up. There's no apparent connection among the victims. Some are homeless, some are obese, and many are athletic.

"… Were all the bodies discovered homeless people?"

"Some are living off government unemployment benefits."

I study the files, rubbing my chin. "What about the abduction victims?"

"They all come from respectable backgrounds, in good physical shape, and aged between 19 and 25."

Reflecting on the records from Bakersfield, I focus on their Magecraft. "Evolution and interbreeding of species… I believe he is attempting to mislead us." Magecraft bases itself in science, and I cannot imagine gene-splicing will be easier on the body, Magecraft or otherwise. "You think he's killing these people just to throw us off?"

"For many of us, lives hold little value, like pebbles on the roadside."

"Are our lives that dispensable to you all?"

I give him a sidelong look, arching my eyebrows. "Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to, detective."

"And what about you? Is human life also meaningless to you?" He asks, only the side of his face visible.

I must tread carefully.

The detective's still on the fence about collaborating with me—one wrong word could make him withdraw. Another complication is that I simply don't possess any strong opinion or sentiment regarding the value of a single human life. I may save them if I can, but I won't shed any tears either. 'Just tell them what they want to hear, Leo.'

"And why do you suppose I'm here?" I meet his gaze.

"For the money?"

"A mediocre Magus like Bakersfield doesn't exactly command a hefty paycheck. There are far more sinister entities out there—targets that are much more worthwhile."

Commissions like this are quite rare occurrences, according to Kiritsugu.

They're usually private commissions put up by rival Houses seeking to benefit from the target's demise.

The Tower operates under a three-strike system, wherein a Magus will receive warnings for their negligence, and only after the third strike is a mission issued—one that Enforcers will undertake.

Of course, unless the Magus in question is drawing too much attention or working to become an Apostle, the Tower does not particularly care whether they kill their target or not, hence why the compensation is normally abyssmally low compared to the standards. They can even waltz right into the Tower, pay a small fee, extricate themselves and it's a clean-slate all over again.

Another issue is the political implications.

Accepting such assignments typically results in the taker being targeted by other Houses—a way to teach them a lesson. Given the long list of problems and meager rewards associated with these tasks, it's little wonder why they are left to languish and gather dust. Most get taken down in weeks.

It's actually how Kiritsugu built his reputation in the beginning: By being the guy who accepted jobs literally nobody wanted to take.

"You said—"

"I'm aware of my previous statement, but that amount is a mere fraction of what other missions command."

"Good lord…" Detective Oswald gasps. "Just how wealthy are you all?"

"It varies, but I'd argue many of us are poorer than you might assume." As I respond, my gaze darts across the sparse files the police have on the case, which offers little beyond basic descriptions of the victims and all the locations where they were discovered by some poor blokes just trying to go about their daily lives. "How's that?"

"Detectives receive a steady salary whether or not they solve a case, plus bonuses. We, on the other hand, only get paid after providing proof. We also have to travel extensively, which is quite costly, not to mention the expenses can get pretty out of hand—from preparing fake documents; weapons; travel and so on… It really takes a bite out of our earnings."

"Huh, guess everyone has their own difficulties."

"Wait..." I blank out as an idea suddenly pops up in my head.

"You got something?" The detective barrels towards, sitting down with a loud thud as he groans out several complaints about his knees. "What if we've been looking at this wrong?" It just doesn't make sense for a Magus to do all this, not when [Hypnotization] is a very real and very widely-practiced Spell that I forgot to learn like an idiot.

I resist the urge to berate myself for the foolish mistake, but what's done cannot be undone. 'Perhaps I can call Kirei later...' The priest has more of a hand-on and 'touchy' approach to teaching, no joke intended, but I should be able to learn through instructions alone. Though it might be dangerous, what isn't?

Unfortunately, I can't do that with Oswald sitting right beside me. 'I'll have to wait.'

"We are a cautious breed. One of us wouldn't dare attempt something as moronic as killing merely for distraction."

While it is true Magi hold human life in low regard, they rarely take it unless it serves an explicit purpose. The whole point is to keep the Magical World a secret from the public, and wanton killing, even when useful, is simply not encouraged as a habit, let alone as something as mundane as a diversionary tactic.

That's what makes this case so peculiar.

Even Kiritsugu admitted that Bakersfield's behavior is highly uncharacteristic for a Magus. 'Guy's acting like a butcher.' Literally, given the state his victims were found in. I would expect a Magus to leave more surgical cuts.

Even the Magi who have Apostlehood in mind wouldn't dare act this recklessly—not in an area with a large population like Montreal at least.

"Take a look here,"

I say, gesturing to the rudimentary red string diagram I have put on the desk in front of us. "At first it was just disappearances, then the bodies started turning up about a week after the press caught wind of it… Doesn't that strike you as odd? It doesn't add up. He's originally targeting fit, athletic people. Why the sudden shift in his modus operandi? Why'd he even let the bodies be found?" Magi or not, there are countless, extremely accessible methods to get rid of bodies.

"Maybe he wants recognition?"

"There's only one thing most of us want recognition for, and I can assure you it's not murder." By 'us,' I meant Magi.

Still, the detective insists. "We can't ignore it as a possibility."

"Fair enough." I nod, then add. "I still think I'm onto something here."

Oswald's eyes narrow. "You believe there's a second killer."

"Yes."

I confirm, fingers tapping on the desk.

The Tower's heavily involved with human-trafficking. One may even say they make up around 15-20% of the trade, despite making up less than 1% of the world. It's how they have managed to hide from the world governments thus far.

Most Magi only kidnap when they've emptied their pockets funding all the human experiments they're performing, or run out of test subjects to use mid-research, and even them they usually stop when it crosses the double-digits threshold. "Either the guy has a partner, or someone's taking advantage of the situation to actualize their dark desires." Or he has succeeded in achieving Apostlehood.

Whichever it is, it doesn't bode well for the citizens of Montreal.

'Oh, well… My job is to kill, not save.'

However, if there's truly a second serial killer running amok out there, and they don't cease their activities even after Bakersfield's death is made public, the detective might find himself in a rather tricky predicament.

We press on with the investigation, and rather than having my theory disproven as I anticipated, I only grow increasingly confident in it.

The locations where the victims were first spotted, when connected, form two distinct patterns—one a badly-drawn circle; the other a seemingly random zigzag line with neither rhymes nor reason. "Motherfuffler!"

"…" Turning around, I give him a disgusted look. "You got extra Canadian for a moment there."

"Fuck you, we're a polite people!"

"How very polite of you." I sass, connecting the last dots, both figuratively and literally.

"Maybe he's trying to distract us again?" He continues futilely.

"The circle pattern keeps happening 5 days after the first body turned up. If he is, he's doing a terrible job."

I challenge, my logic sound.

"Fluff—!" He screeches in utter agony.

"Shouldn't you be happy?" My brows arch questioningly as I add. "Imagine the rewards and street rep you'll get catching two serial killers."

His face sours. "It isn't worth the grey hair; the stress… Don't even get me started on the sleepless nights and the obscene amount of paperwork that'll be waiting for me."

"It's just paperwork."

"'JUST'?!" The detective hisses. "Paperwork kills dreams!"

I roll my eyes at his dramatic outburst.

"It's just paperwork." I repeat. "How bad can it get?"

"I'm 27!"

Oswald shouts, the fact coming as quite the surprise since he looks 40. "You think I want a pot-belly this young? It's the paperwork. If you don't get a few beers in during and after, you'll be hailed a living saint in HQ… A case of this complexity will take fluffing forever to fill in."

Cringing at the YouTube Kid filtered curses, I sigh. "Please stop saying 'fluffing,' it is very annoying. Just curse, like a normal person, for the love of all that is holy and unholy. Think of the bonuses and salary increase when you move up the rank." If this case can boost his career, it will only help me in the long run, not hurt. "Tax will take most of it…"

"What are you complaining for, Detective Oswald? I will be doing most of the heavy-lifting anyway."

Get a load of this guy.

That finally shuts him up.

"Well, let's head out then."

He blanches. "It's 1 in the morning."

"You're a cop." I remind him, my lips twitching. And here I even thought this guy was decent, turns out he's just a slacker. "A desk guy, and a day-shifter." He counters smoothly, like he has done it a thousand times before.

"Bro, what the fuck?" This same guy earlier had the nerves to judge me?

"Sacre bleu! We're in the heart of la belle province, where the worst we usually see are a few petits crimes passionnels, the odd murder here and there out of jealousy or family feuds. But now you're telling me we have got not one, but two sick psychos with superpowers on our hands? What the calice do you want me to do about that, eh?"

He shivers—his accent revealed in full, his hands trembling like a leaf in a storm. 'Ah, so that's what's got him so spooked.'

The initial adrenaline rush that had buoyed his courage must have worn off, leaving him to confront the new and obviously dangerous reality that had been thrust upon him, whose world was once so simple and orderly. "Look, I'm sorry!" He starts, running a hand through his damp hair despite the room temperature being 16°C. "I'm just—I'm very overwhelmed right now."

I sigh. "We're not attacking tonight, detective. We're just scouting around."

I've already circled all the hotels where Bakersfield may be hiding, but if no one matching his description is found there, we'll have to move on to looking through records of rental and for-sale properties. Oswald will also need to obtain that information… Illegally, since he's not officially on the case.

We—I simply don't have time to waste.

"I'd prefer if you came with me, but if you'd rather not, I can manage on my own." Navigating Montreal through rooftops would certainly be inconvenient, so I'm hoping he'll be considerate. He does seem like the type who acts indifferent, but is actually quite kind—I'd know, since I interact with someone just like him on a regular basis back in Fuyuki.

"Wait!"

'Knew it.'

"I'll drive you, but I won't go on the field!"

"Got it." I throw him a thumb-up, already knowing Oswald won't be able to resist following. Everybody knows the phrase: 'When one looks at the abyss, the abyss looks back,' but why'd one want to look into the abyss? Because it is mesmerizing…

Because it fascinates and stirs the human sense of curiosity like nothing else.

Our exit raises no question, as the receptionist and manager seem to have gone away.

Hotel after hotel, we check—each time coming no closer to Bakersfield's hideout, until finally.

"I'm sorry, but it's against our policies to reveal a client's—"

The way her features move, she must've seen the Magus.

I suppose it can be very intimidating and confusing for two people—one boy and one adult—to be asking about a client specifically, but she's more awkward, if not to say shifty.

I'm about to use my silver-tongue to convince her with my tear-jerking acting performance, when Oswald pulls out his badge. "I'm a cop, you can look me up on the databse, or call the station if you want—" Let's hope it's not the latter she picks.

"A cop? Is he—"

That confirms it, Bakersfield's in the building.

"He's suspected of many heinous crimes, and the only way to stop him is that you cooperate with us."

The detective adds.

"You're investigating a suspected criminal with your kid?"

"He's not my kid." Oswald answers, looking disgusted at the mere thought. 'Well, screw you too.'

"He's a part of the investigation. He isn't really a kid either, but a dwarf—"

The urge to smack him over the head spikes in an instant, but reasons eventually win out.

"Wow! You guys are like spies!"

Oh, honey…

"Can you please help us?" The detective sincerely pleads.

"I- I guess I can…" Looking around cautiously, she puts her lips next to Oswald's ear, whispering. "I'm not supposed to, and I really need this job so—"

"Don't worry. Our lips are sealed."

He promises, pretending to zip his lips, then kicks lightly at my shin, gesturing for me to do the same.

"Well, you guys are late." Her finger hooks around several strands as she starts to recount. "He first came several months ago. He talked kinda funny, and we all thought he was weird, but he's one of the biggest client we've had in a while. Booked one of our suites for 6 months straight and suddenly moved out with his stuffs a week ago. Our bosses are not happy with his departure, but we are all relieved."

Damn… He must have moved to his Workshop. The last few months were probably spent setting up the place.

"Why?"

"I don't know, he just seems so… Fake. His smile never reaches his eyes; and he glides instead of walk; and the way he looks at people sometimes—" The receptionist shudders. "It's like he doesn't see us as humans."

That's probably because he doesn't.

Magi are just a different breed…

"Do you know where he moves to?"

"I don't. He terrified us… Nobody wanted to talk to him, so nobody did. He didn't seek us out either."

"Damn…!" Oswald raises his clenched fist to hit the desk, before slowing to lightly tap it instead. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No." I shakes my head, all-smile as I reach for her hand. "Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Valentine."

Breaking our handshake, I tap Oswald's shoulder to snap him out of his outburst and silently gestures to the door.

Exiting the hotel, Oswald cusses, staring at the rising Sun. "That's a whole night wasted."

"Not really."

"We missed him by a week…"

He still grouches.

"Sometimes, the glass isn't half-empty, detective. Sometimes, it's half-full."

— — — — —

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