Two different colorless people flanked the door, each puffing cigarettes. "Johnny." They both murmured with a respectful nod.
"Eric. Pete." He returned the nod, stepping through the large wooden doors and into the lobby. As we strode past the front desk, the receptionist gave us a cheerful wave. My shoes clacked against the tile quietly as we walked, and I couldn't help but look down at my body with a soft smile. I felt as if I'd changed so much, yet in so many ways, I was the same.
Now, as I walked through these hallowed halls, trekking toward a Herald, I felt each step carrying purpose. No longer was I the clueless boy who had no idea what was happening, wondering who he could trust and what to do, now I had direction, allies. Even if the world seemed dark, the subtle belief burned in my heart that there was hope, that the Polaroid Office and I could make a change. Yet, I was still the same. Looking down at my raggedy, bloodied clothes, I was still at my core, the same scared boy they had picked off the street.
Something swirled around my wrist for a moment, a dim brown light. It burgeoned, forming a glow around both my hands. My eyes widened, the strange luminescence the only color in a world of black and white. Johnny glanced back, but moments after he noticed, they were gone.
His shoes squeaked to a halt on the linoleum as he turned around, stopping in the elevator bank. "What were you thinking?" His voice was calm, but a pressing weight hid behind it.
"I— What?"
He stepped forward, eyes locked on my hands. "What were you doing in your head?"
"Thinking about how different this visit is to the last. About how I am different, but still similar" I withdrew slightly, a twinge of anxiety seeping into my blood.
He let out a soft sigh of relief, turning back to the elevator. "That's good."
"What do you mean?"
"Means the work I've been doing is paying off." We stepped into the small wood-paneled box. He pressed floor five, spoke to the lady on the intercom, and we chugged upward. "Remember what I told you last time and ask about the brown glow."
I nodded, the feeling of familiarity of my last visit trickling up again. The door opened, and the Detective's disheveled office was revealed to us. This time however, he sat behind his desk, a glowing white screen floating above the tabletop. He swiped around, moving files into a new folder. With a few taps, the screen disappeared, the hatch on his wall producing a crisp ding alongside a tiny white light flaring to life.
"Johnny, Donovan, how'd it go?" He stood, rubbing the dark bags beneath his eyes and ruffling his disheveled hair. The Detective scanned my body, focusing on the wounds and torn clothes. "Seems something happened."
"We'll… get to that, if that's alright with you." The Detective nodded in response, and Johnny took a puff of his cigarette. "We got the information we wanted."
"Bad then?" The Detective shook his head in annoyance, opening the hatch. Inside lay a small stack of papers which he brought over to his walls of cork boards. As he began to pin up the documents, he continued, "do I owe Vivianne something now?"
"No boss." He took off his hat, holding it over his heart. "Vivianne got one out of the kid."
The Detective gazed at Johnny from over his shoulder for a moment before walking to the large wooden desk, pulling a cigarette from the tray and lighting it with a blaze of monochromatic fire. "You okay?" His eyes were full of pity.
I nodded. "It was my choice."
"Then… that's all that matters." He held the cigarette between two fingers in a half open fist. "What else happened?"
"I met Derrick, and saw the Dawn Bastion," I offered, seeing as he was looking at me.
The Detective's stubbled jaw slowly shifted to a smile. "'Derrick,' eh?" He chuckled. "He must've liked you. Good to hear he's still kicking." He took another drag, gesturing to me with his other hand. "So, what happened to the kid?"
Johnny grimaced, pulling the pendant from his pocket with a gloved hand. "We ran into a Sillianist terrorist. He invoked the name of the Doomsayer and got a response."
The Detective sat perfectly still for a moment; eyes locked on the pendant. "Let me see it." He walked up, placing his left hand in front of his splayed right one, quickly dragging the left down as if putting on a glove. To my shock, seemingly from nowhere, a black leather glove had materialized on his hand. "You heard it in a recreation, not reality, yes?"
"Yes boss." Johnny placed the pendant in the Detective's palm, watching as the Detective rolled it around examining its surfaces.
He glanced up at me. "It affected you?"
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Yes sir."
"Run me through it."
I recounted the events within the misty recreation, and the contents of my dream. The images were still fresh in my mind, even just recalling them made my skin crawl. "What does it mean?"
"All Heralds connected to the Brilliance or as Vivianne calls them, the Supplicants, have discussed this a little." The Detective leaned back on the desk, grabbing a polaroid camera from its surface. "What you saw is believed to be his Incarnation, but what form, we aren't sure. It's been a growing phenomenon that people see him, most commonly when death is near, and are asked to join his Procession." With a click and a flash of light, the pendant disappeared, a picture of it slowly sliding from the camera. The detective waved it about before placing it on the table, the glove over his hand disappearing.
My heart jumped into my throat; my flesh feeling clammy. "A-am I going to die soon?"
"You only saw him because you witnessed his full title." The Detective sighed. "Names and words hold power."
"Will he come back?" Even reassured, I still felt the looming threat behind me.
The Detective shrugged. "It's possible, his powers are generally unknown. If he comes back, tell Johnny after you turn him down."
"What happens if he… wakes up?"
He didn't say anything for a long while, taking a deep drag. "I don't know." The room was silent, a heavy chill settling over me. "But what Johnny said is right, you can't afford to worry about him right now. He's simply out of your league. Focus on your mother."
I nodded slowly, gulping down my building anxiety. "Alright."
"Has there been any progress with his Icons?" He looked to Johnny, who promptly looked to me, gesturing almost imperceivably with his chin.
I nodded. "Yes."
"Already?" He nodded his approval. "What'd it look like?"
With a brief recount of the white streaks, as well as the subtle brown glow a few moments ago, Johnny added, "He said the glowing hands was after a moment of reflection between who he was and who he is currently."
The Detective grinned. "Stay on this path Donovan, and your Ego might not be far off. Constantly be taking note of differences and subtle changes in your identity."
I couldn't help but frown slightly. "I… why couldn't this have happened earlier?" What if I could've stopped it? My heart twisted.
"What do you mean?" The Detective crossed his arms.
"Maybe I could've done something— anything,"
He paused, studying me. "I get it. But that's not how it works unfortunately. It's a power born from trauma. You have a chance at these powers because of this, and just because you couldn't prevent it doesn't mean you can't fix it."
I nodded slowly, my heart in knots. "Thank you, Detective."
Johnny spoke up. "Boss, did you receive the pictures from the Stellar Radiant yet?"
"No, I haven't seen anything." He pushed off the desk, adjusting his suspenders as he rose. "Don't bother waiting. If I see anything, I'll send a message."
"Thank you, boss." Johnny turned to leave.
"Wait a moment." A gray mist curled around the Detective of Whencewas, swirling and coalescing into an unbuttoned trench coat. "Take this, just in case." He plunged a hand into the obscured depths, deep inside an area I couldn't seem to focus on. It was as if my gaze seemed to slip right off, unable to truly focus on what was within. Then, he withdrew two simple polaroid pictures.
"Boss—"
"These are two Super-Ego class Icons, their wielders are dead, but their Icons remain, albeit weaker." He showed the first picture to us, a long black quarterstaff covered with star-like inlays of an unknown metal. "Our eighteenth Externalized Super-Ego, codenamed E-SE: 018, Wheel of Stars." Placing the picture in Johnny's hand, he picked up another. "E-SE: 054, donated graciously by the Brilliance, Truthseeker's Spectacles." The picture depicted a simple pair of thin-rimmed glasses, the lenses reflected faceted fractals.
"Boss, it's only district 2. This is—"
"I know." He nodded, "but with the Doomsayer involved, I'd rather be safe. Go get him cleaned and stitched up and ready to go again."
I hesitantly touched my shoulder, realizing the pain had dulled significantly. Slowly, I peeled back the bandage to reveal a bright pink, closed wound.
"Must've been when your Ego started to manifest." The Detective smiled, nodding slowly. "Excellent."
Johnny put back on his hat. "Thank you, boss." He turned away, gesturing for me to follow.
The Detective waved me away, turning back to his work, "Good luck Donovan."