C13: Carrot and 'Stick'

Guest (FF.net): There's a lot to unpack here. The awkwardness, fakeness, and his focus on 'benefits'—whether financial, territorial, magical, or just simple acts of kindness—are not bugs, they're features. Crumbs of hints that'll be resolved in the future.

Even though Leo picked the Universe, he's just a mortal, out of his depth amidst a cast either too young or too old to establish meaningful connections.

As for your criticism of [Reinforcement] on the flesh, even Emiya Kiritsugu, who survived fighting Kirei without formal Magecraft education used it, or he wouldn't have survived. Did you see that fight? Maybe not all Magi know how to, but enough Magi do that it's no longer a special thing. It's not special if all the Magi in one town knows how to do it, and it can be explained by saying Rin teaches him.

— — — — —

The airport is bustling with people, a reflection of Japan's economic boom in the last half a century.

Unfortunately, no system can grow infinitely. Along with the intensely demanding work culture and the constant pressure for higher productivity from companies, Japan's birthrate is expected to decline sharply in the coming years.

The impact to their economy as a result won't be nearly as 'flashy' as the infamous Great Depression, but it'll be a slow and agonizing death—the wilting of a culture.

Without children, there will be fewer workers, consumers, and new businesses emerging, stalling their economy until it starts to go in the red. But, fair is fair, this is not just an issue in Japan.

This is a problem faced globally—almost as if Humanity has reached the real life equivalence of an 'invisible ceiling' and is stagnating.

Still it's not my place to interfere.

I have a responsibility only to myself and the few friends and acquaintances I've made thus far.

Furthermore, these are deep-seated issues which have plagued the world for decades, if not centuries, and are not something I alone can rectify. Not as I am now—near powerless and on my own. I need people, my own 'Round Table' of sorts, and these missions may just be the key to that.

I already have fame, albeit it's no golden halo that makes a household name, but with time and dedication put into it, I'll soon have a soft-power 'army' to defend me in the public eye,

Now I need another group who will be the spear against my enemies in the dark, whom I must carefully select and recruit. The only way to achieve that is venture deeper into the rabbit hole that's the world beneath the surface—the one in which knowledge, intellect, prestige and personal prowess reign above all else… Where nobility still has meaning, instead of the 'token' it has become in the modern era.

I need loyal retainers; generals and such.

'Maybe I should thank Kiritsugu for the opportunity…' And the gun. 'Can't ever forget about guns.'

"Here's the ticket, miss!"

Innocently, I hand over the ticket to the receptionist, already formulating an excuse for the lack of adult supervision for me, but the woman seems strangely disoriented as she mechanically accepts the ticket, "Thank you for your patronage, sir." Her movements stiff and devoid of the artificial liveliness expected from the employee of an expensive airline.

Ever briefly, I can't help but wonder if something is troubling her or if the stress of the job has taken a toll. Still, I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I actually find this type of straightforward interaction quite agreeable. No fanfare, no fuss, just a simple exchange. The receptionist hasn't questioned me, and the other people around us seem to mind their own business as well. I'm sure some may still wonder where my guardian is, but it doesn't really matter. If the authorities see no problem with my being here unaccompanied, then why should anyone?

"Thank you for choosing our airline. I hope you have a lovely flight." She says, her smile lookimg every bit as strained as it sounds, as if the simple gesture requires tremendous effort. 'Is she being held hostage or something?' I idly wonder, then discreetly scan the area for any suspicious individuals, only to find nothing out of the ordinary. 'It's probably just stress.'

Setting aside my blarring intuition, I proceed to board the flight. Since I don't have much luggage, the process goes relatively quickly. The only real complaint I have is the mother and daughter pair seated behind me, the latter of which is screaming at the top of her lungs—unaccustomed with the pressure change.

The girl continues to cry for nearly two hours, and though most of the passengers—me included—were understanding at first, we're finally able to breath a sigh of relief. I, one of the closest victims, am naturally more irritated than others. "Jesus..." Tiredly, I rub my temples to soothe the headache the child's incessant yells have managed to cultivate. "That was just fucking torturous."

"Ugh, tell me about it,"

The woman next to me grumbles, lightly elbowing me. "Why on earth would you bring their infant on a flight? Have some decency."

"Excuse me?!"

The mother whirls around, her response as sharp as a cat whose tail has been stepped on. "You two mind your own business! And you! Whose disrespectful child are you?" Although I wasn't about to involve myself, reason has long left my body at this point, taking patience along with it for the ride. 'Oh, it's on bitch.'

Tears welling up on command, I let out a pitiful sob, shrinking into myself in a 'desperate bid' for 'comfort.'

"Look at what you've done!" The passenger besides me cries.

In a split second, the woman's entire persona has shifted—from a seemingly sympathetic mother dealing with a misbehaving child, to a raving lunatic who's probably responsible for her kid's spoilt behvaiors.

Sensing the growing public scrutiny, she huffs indignantly before returning to her seat, while the flight attendants merely exchange awkward glances at the sight.

"Damn delinquent," She mutters under her breath. "You weren't so angelic with that foul language earlier."

My brilliant theatrical display earns me the sympathies of the kind flight attendants, who promptly provide me with three sandwiches—sandwiches I consume attentively, all the while covertly observing the mother from the corner of my eye.

I would have even allowed myself a self-satisfied smirk, were it not for the role I'm playing. It is as they say, the best liar is a good actor, for who else but people whose job is to tell really convincing lies on screen?

The Karen, her face flushed red, seethes with anger.

For the remainder of the flight, I amuse myself by teasing her with subtle gestures and stifled chuckles.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. If you take a moment to look outside, you'll see Ottawa—the capital of Canada. We'll be landing shortly. Thank you for choosing our airline. I hope you'lll have a fantastic vacation, or a productive one for those of you who have joined our flight for business purposes."

At the same time, a collective sigh of relief fills the air.

Being confined in what amounts to a metal and plastic death trap with dozens of others is distressing enough...

It get even more nerve-racking when we are hovering thousands of feet above ground, accompanied by an intermittently wailing infant. Carrying our luggage, we passengers start disembarking from the aircraft in an organized manner.

My actual destination is Montreal, where the Lord of House Bakersfield—relatively new by the Tower's standards, focusing on 'Forced Evolution'—was recently spotted.

The reason behind his relocation from London to Canada is anyone's guess, yet since he came, several individuals have mysteriously disappeared. Official reports from the Tower's mole in the local government indicate around 35 missing persons, but this count only reflects those whose disappearance was reported by loved ones.

The actual number is probably—definitely—higher.

Not to mention the corpses that have been found in various locations…

Trying to hail a cab proves futile due to my appearance, so I opt to approach a random car idling near the airport and hop in. "I need to head to Montreal." I state.

"I'm not accepting passengers."

Comes the driver's curt reply.

"Where are your parents, kid?"

"How about this? I'll offer you $500 extra on top of the fare for your silence."

I say as I press the stacks of bills into his hands, reaching for another wad. "And another $500 to keep any questions at bay. What do you say, interested?"

There are scarce few problems money can't fix… This isn't one of them.

Glancing around furtively, the taxi driver snatches the cash from my grasp, meticulously inspecting its authenticity through various means before tucking it away in his pocket and asks. "Where to?"

"A hotel, ideally located in the heart of Montreal."

"That's a two-hour drive, so it won't come cheap. You sure you've got the cash?" He skeptically questions, while I pull out a wad of bills to fan myself. "It's a bit warm in here. Mind switching on the AC?"

With a spark in his eyes, the driver, now filled with motivations, exclaims, "Get ready for a top-notch hotel experience!"

After enduring a grueling 20-hour journey of flights and driving, I wearily haul my luggage to the front desk of the prestigious Gault Hotel, a renowned, legacy establishment In Montreal.

Physically, I'm as fit as can be after a long journey, but mentally, I'm feeling incredibly on edge.

"He- Hello?"

The receptionist's voice betrays a hint of confusion as she gazes down at me from behind her desk, phone in hand. "Hey there, where are your parents?" Her concern shown as she waits for my response, visibly puzzled by my solo arrival.

"I'm here because my dad asked me to book a room."

I mumble softly, trying to maintain the appropriate level of reservation given the circumstances, as I slide a thick wad of cash across the counter.

The receptionist's apologetic tone fills the space as she informs me, "I'm sorry, but I can't check you in without your guardian present—it is the hotel policy."

Pretending to be dejected, I avert my gaze and deliberately drag my feet, casually scuffing at the imaginary dust on the floor.

Is it bit over the top? Perhaps, but damn if it doesn't work like a charm. "Wait!"

I turn back around, my gaze brimming with the tinniest glint of hope that only furthers to receptionist's feelings of guilt. "Is... Is your dad strict? Will he hurt you for not being able to get the room?" Somehow I get the feeling she's not being literal when she said 'strict' here.

I quickly shake my head, fully-aware that involving the authorities would only create more trouble down the line. "No, no! It's not like that. I just want to help out however I can. He's been working so hard ever since my mom..."

Trailing off, I leave the rest unsaid, and yet the implication's defeaning still. "Aw…" The receptionist's eyes go wide, a hand flying up to cover her mouth as she sobs, already tearing up. 'She's faster than me, damn.'

"What seems to be the issue here?"

Another person, a man who bears a striking resemblance to the hotel manager from 'Home Alone', enters the conversation with a polite yet puzzled smile. After hearing my 'story' from the woman, even the manager appears moved. "Chloé, please get this young man his room. How long will you and your father be staying?"

"A- A few months, sir… Dad told me to give you the money for three months in advance." I stutter, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks as I produce the black card Kiritsugu had provided me for business expenses. Just like that, their sympathy transforms into awe and greed. "H- How long did you say? Could—" He swallows thickly, mouth watering. "Could you repeat that for me?"

"M- Months, sir. I'm not sure of the exact duration. Dad said we'd stay for however long it takes, and that he wouldn't ask for a refund if we checked out early."

Their eyes light up, and I can practically see the thoughts doing laps in their minds: 'It's a huge client!'

Once I've secured the room, I leave my luggage with the attendants and quickly make my way upstairs, intent on taking a much-needed rest. I have already done some prior research on the nearest police station via Google, the morning after our little 'puke party.' The database may not be extensive in 1994, but it's sufficient for me to grasp the basics.

Breaking in might pose a challenge, but I've thought of a way to take care of that.

Why toil away when I can delegate the task to another? That evening, I exit the hotel, deliberately sidestepping the receptionist and manager who are busy greeting clients, using the hustle and bustle of the people coming and going as cover. I could have called another taxi, but my heart's bleeding at the expenses already.

Besides, CCTV may be lax in comparison to the future, but it is not entirely non-existent.

'Rooftop seems the wisest choice.'

According to the map, the police precinct is approximately 3.4 miles from my hotel.

Under normal circumstances, that's a distance I could cover in a matter of minutes, even seconds, were it not for the very real risk of slipping on the rooftops and becoming a spectable on the street. I can't imagine the hammer of judgement that'd come on my head for revealing unnatural abilities would be any lesser due to my age and innocence.

And let's be honest, my own tendency for getting lost is not exactly negligible either.

The thing is, I can't even rely on a map in this situation. Google Maps will only be available to the public in 2005 which we're far from, coupled with the spotty telecommunication capabilities of this era, simply pulling up the map on a device which hasn't even been invented or patented simply isn't realistic.

No, I think I'll have to resort to a more time-honored method of navigation: Appealing to the ancestors for guidance, just as our forebears once did! "It's just looking for a building… How hard can it be?"

Incredibly, as I happen to find out two hours later. "Fucking finally!" One wouldn't imagine, but trying to locate where you are on the map, from a random rooftop somewhere is way more of a challenge than previously expected.

Stationed across the street from the police precinct, I settle in and wait.

It's a mind-numbingly dull affair, to be sure, but it's a necessity nevertheless to bide my time.

Eventually, my effort is rewarded as I spot a man who appears to be of some significance. Impeccably dressed intellectual with the classic 'blue-collar' look, a badge barely visible on his belt and the pot-belly.

The guy's demeanor and outfit practically scream 'detective'.

All he needs is a brown, raggedy trench-coat to complete look.

As for how I managed to discern these details from so a whole street away, let's just say [Reinforcement] is a remarkably versatile tool, and leave it at that—a tool I've spent a lot of time honing with the free time I had during filming.

* Buzz!

* Buzz!

* BUZZ!!!

The ringing of my phone—the blocky device with a whole antenna on top—interrupts my concentration. I grumble as I see the name on the black and white screen: 'Manager.' Idols, singers, actors—we all have managers who're responsible for finding jobs for us.

I am no exception.

Still keeping an eye on the detective, I pick up the call. "Ms. Miyamoto, what's the problem?"

"I just found a perfect role for you! It's a Super Sentai show, and they need a little sidekick. I know most don't want supporting roles, but I think this will be awesome for your image—it'll even create a loyal fanbase of children across all ages for you! Think about it!"

Clearing my throat, I answer, "Ah, well, you see, I'm actually in the middle of something quite pressing at the moment…" Then pause, considering the offer. "But, yes, I suppose that could work nicely."

While the part of a sidekick may not be the most glamorous, it's certainly better than being typecast as the lead Ranger. Those roles can be tricky to shake off in the future, even for the most accomplished performers.

Take Hugh Jackman, for instance—he has proven himself time and time again as a versatile and talented actor, yet many still associate him primarily with his iconic portrayal of Wolverine; or Tobey Maguire and his role as Spider-Man.

In comparison, a supporting part in this Super Sentai series could actually be quite beneficial for my career in the long run.

If anything, it'll provide an opportunity to showcase my range and may even lead to more substantial roles down the line. "—This is a new project which is being sponsored by the company, it's only talked about at the moment, but the audition will start 'round September."

'It should work out fine.'

I should have the situation with the Magus handled within a month at worst. "I can work with that… I'll be sure to clear my schedule."

"—Excellent!"

My manager replies, sounding quite pleased. "—On that note, I have also taken the liberty to arrange a photoshoot for you… Would you be available tomorrow?"

I hesitate, glancing over at the detective who is now swiftly making their way down the street. "I'm afraid I will have to decline, if that's alright. My guardian's encouraged me to take breaks when I can. Maybe at a later date?"

"—Leo, you're on a roll. You can't take big breaks right now… What's more important, rolling around in money; being worshipped by thousands, or obeying your guardian? Is that what you are, Leo, a puppet of his?"

'Damn.'

I completely forgot how toxic work-culture in Japan can be, she's even trying to ultilize the rebelliousness children are known for in order to manipulate me.

"Sorry, but I'm out of the country right now. Gotta go." Irritated, I hung up the phone only to find the detective had disappeared into the ocean of people. "Damn it!"

I'd use my heightened senses to track him down, but there's too much background noise to pinpoint his location, and trying to sharpen my vision would just overwhelm me in this sea of colors and visuals. My sense of smell isn't helping much either. "Goddamnit!"

Muttering curses under my breath, I decide to just start moving in a random direction. I need a proper detective.

Regular cops might pick up some details, but they probably won't have the full picture unless they're directly in on the case.

I need a detective, someone with more clearance than the average cops. As I'm walking down the street, internally spewing profanities that would make a sailor blush at Miyamoto, an arm suddenly reaches out and yanks me into a dark alley. Surprise-Surprise, it's the detective, his gaze sharp and hard as his face nears mine. "Who are you? Why are you following me?"

Out of habit, I try to use my youthful looks to pull one over on him, but it's about as effective as a wet fart as he sneers disdainfully, "Don't even try that with me. You know how many kids your age I've busted slinging dope? I shall not ask again. Who. Sent. You?!"

Caught off-guard, I look at him in confusion, then pound on my chest. "You know, you're the first one who hasn't been totally taken in by my act. Respect, man."

He clears his throat, a slight flush creeping into his cheeks at the unexpected compliment. "Well, uh, thank you—Wait a minute! Stop trying to change the subject! It's not gonna work!"

"I'm not," I shrug nonchalantly. "I was just making an observation. How may I address you?"

"… Detective Oswald."

He responds curtly, his eyes darting around in search of my non-existent accomplices.

"No need to look around, I'm here alone. I just have a few questions for you."

"You must be out of your mind if you think I'm going to tell you anything."

"What if I said I could help with the recent string of kidnappings?"

My words cause his eyes to narrow suspiciously. "That information hasn't even been made public yet… How on earth did you know about that?"

"We're everywhere, Detective Oswald," I drawl, easily prying his hands from my neck. The detective stares at me in horror as I seize his hands, forcing him down to his knees so his wrists don't break.

"And we're far more well-connected than you could ever imagine."

"What are you?"

He gasps as my eyes glow in the darkness—a relatively simple trick I have learned through [Reinforcement]. In hindsight, I really should have asked Kiritsugu to teach me [Hypnosis], though in my defense, I was more focused on my ability to crack skulls and kick in teeth. "The Devil…" Intimidation Check—Successful.

"What do you want?"

After realizing just how outmatched he is, the detective finally gives in, his voice losing the earlier dangerous edge.

"Like I said, information, and if I find out you've given me even a single word of falsehood…"

My fist lightly taps the large trash can behind me, one of the big ones reserved for businesses, causing it to crumple like a wet piece of toilet paper. "That will be your fate… And I won't just stop with you. Your dogs, your cats, your children, parents, spouse—anyone I can get my hands on, I'll kill and their end will not be pretty. So keep your mouth shut about everything you see and hear today, as for all those useless thoughts of betrayal? Keep them in check, you understand?"

I threaten, though of course it's all an empty bluff.

Personally, I see no issue with killing when it's warranted, but this man is just doing his job.

But, in order for this to work out in any capacity, I must instill the fear of God in him. "We- We haven't found out anything! The guy's good!" He stutters due to the pressure I'm applying to his wrists—not nearly forceful enough to cause any real damage, but painful enough for him to want his mother by his side.

"What about the locations of the murders? Where were the victims last seen before disappearing?"

"I don't know!" He screams as I slightly increase the pressure, my nails digging into the back of his hands. "You still lie! You must have been briefed on the details at some point!"

"I- I thought you guys are everywhere? Can't even find a person?" It is rather brave of him to laugh and joke under this circumstance, but, "Don't you know? It's the brave men who die first."

To drive my point home, I dislocate one of his fingers, watching silently as his mouth opens in a scream which I muffle with my palm. "Let's try this again."

"I don't know! I don't fucking remember, happy?! I'm not even on the fucking case!"

He growls, tearful eyes burning holes in my head as I drop the detective, who grovels on the grounds clutching his injured hand. "You must have clearance… Go back in there and fetch me the files."

"That's a felony!"

Giving the 'Do I look like I care' look, I pull out a wad. "How 'bout this, I'll sweeten the deal, since apparently not killing every person you've ever so much as laid eyes on is not sweet enough. From now on, you work for me. Every time there's suspicious activity in town, you let me know, and I'll come take it off your hands."

There'll always be suspicious activities, especially in a city as big and cultured as Montreal, but after these displays, both he and I know full-well in our minds what kind of activities I'm talking about. "You guys must ne under pressure from the top, right?" The press have already caught wind of the matter, and though the public—too busy with their lives—have not paid much attention thus far, it is but a matter of time before unrest begins to set in.

Crouching to his eye-level, mine shine innocently—a cheerful smile on my lips as I start. "If you obey me, and obey me well, I can be your Angel… I can even allow you to get credits for putting a stop to this mess." Then, the smile drops, like a mask I can wilfully put on and off. "If you reject my offer, well, let's just say the Devil himself will shed tears after we're done with you and your family. Maybe I'll let you live a little longer—make you watch. Do you have a kid, detective? Do you want her safe?"

Bombarding the detective with hypothesis and questions to cause further disorientation and conflicts in his bio-CPU, I slap his face lightly, if only to snap him out of his daze.

"Think about it… What will your family say when they learn you sacrifice them just to satisfy your ego?"

Gritting his teeth, the man spits. "What do you want with the murderer?"

"To kill him, duh!" I roll my eyes in exasperation. "He's causing too much troubles for us. He has to go."

"That's it? You're here to clean house?"

"Why else?" Eyes rolling in his skull while a million thoughts dominate his mind, Detective Oswald finally lets the last bit of resistance he still clings to go. "How do I know you are not lying?"

I shrug, lips pursed. "You only have my words, but if it's any consolation, you're the only person who's in the know. So, if I feel the need to, I'll only have to silence you, not your friends or family."

Making up his mind, the detective scrambles to his feet, his once imposing form so much smaller—his intimidating aura diminished as he trembles—utterly frightened. "Wait here."

"Atta-boy." The blank mask I have cultivated after being around Kiritsugu and Kirei just a little too long fades in an instant. "Fetch me the 'stick.'"

In a fit of anger, he snatches the bundle of cash from my grasp. Spotting my raised eyebrows, the detective grouses, "What? If I'm going to double-cross the force, might as well make it worth my damn while."

That's... Pretty based.

How can I fault a man for hustling?

"Buy something nice for yourself!"

— — — — —

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