Wilson watched as Grace - as quietly as possible - jumped over the metal fence. It was a few meters in height, but Grace had conquered it in a single, non-serious leap. Landing on the ground beyond the fence, Grace stood up and began to walk.
His shoes rubbed against the dirt as he neared the entrance of the warehouse. The entrance was opened slightly, allowing for a singular person to be able to enter one at a time.
And so Grace did what he had to do and entered.
Not too far away - near the center of the warehouse - was a singular man around his early-twenties. He was on the ground lurching forward, convulsing with tears.
A thin thread of moonlight shone above.
[Wesley Miller]
[Age: 20]
Grace didn't bother trying to look at what God he was devoted to or his magic--he wouldn't get any of that unless he had complete confirmation.
Looking closer, he saw a faint sigil glow on the right shoulder of Wesley. It was a burning spear with horrific wings attached to it.
The Cult of Perfection.
He pushed this thought to the back of his head.
"Wesley Miller."
Wesley looked up, his eyes filled with certain terror and regret. Grace took a step forward, his gaze even and cold.
He was supposed to be an authority figure at this moment.
He had full intention of subjugating this man.
But--
He wasn't righteous.
He was just as heinous as this man before him, groveling like a beggar.
Wesley killed someone.
Grace killed many.
And he'll be killing many more people from here on out. It was the unavoidable truth that he could not avoid. He did not have some sort of moral high ground over another despicable individual--they were merely two sides of the same coin.
Even though Grace wouldn't violate another person--he was deciding if another person should be alive or dead.
"In the end... we are hypocrites," he muttered, but loud enough for Wesley to here. "However, even then--you must die." Regardless of the hypocrisy that hung over him, he was going to see it through.
"No..." Wesley muttered.
"I loved her... I just... wanted her... to love me back." He slowly rose from the ground, agonizing screams escaping his lips as the sigil on his shoulder began to glow profusely.
Slcchhhh!
His arm fell off, replaced with a sludge.
"But she... didn't... my love... she didn't want... any of it!!" He screamed as he hurled himself forward, the sludgy substance flailing. Grace said nothing, stepping to the side to dodge the sludge that was propelling towards him.
Bang!!
The fist-full of sludge collided with the rusted metal entrance. Grace reeled himself back, jumping backward to collect himself. Behind him, Grace summoned ten daggers of light. They hovered beautifully and oh-so radiantly.
"Merge."
They danced and intermingled together, combining to form something much greater than the ten blades it had been initially. He was able to tell, from the moment Wesley flailed forward--he did not have anything special to offer.
In the end--
He was just a slave to the sigil engraved on his shoulder.
It offered him strength.
But nothing more.
Grace stood still, Wesley attempting to hurl towards him again. He was spring-like in nature, weaving through the air like a rocket. However, it wasn't anything he could not decipher.
He saw it all clearly.
He raised his hand, his palm wide open.
"May my light guide you to the depths of hell."
Swoosh!
He waved his hand down, the dagger barreling forward and penetrating Wesley's head. Brain matter was spilled, entrancing the ground of the warehouse.
Grace smiled bitterly.
They lived in a cycle of hypocrisy.
They kill the killers under certain ideals, protecting them as if they were righteous.
Grace shook his head, staring at the dead Wesley Miller.
"But even if we live in such a world... people undoubtedly pursue wanting to be it--righteousness."
A small, resolute smile appeared on his face.
~~~
The authorities took over where they left off, and the ride back into the city was a quiet one. As the only noise that could be heard were the occasional coughs and sneezes.
Wilson was right--the case would be over before the sun rose.
Moreover, it was not the prime detective that finished the case off, rather the rookie apprentice that would remain by his side for the remainder of the month. Somewhat, Grace could feel a tinge of pride meld into his heart.
"The Cult of Perfection," Wilson muttered. "Didn't think they would be muddying their hands in Quantum City. But... times are changing." The increase in criminal activities that far exceeded the years before.
The signs were there.
Slowly, the tides were reaching towards the sky.
"We're here."
Parking, Grace got out of the car. He looked at the building in front of him--it was an apartment complex. It wasn't a grandiose one like the ones at the very center of the city, but just a regular, mundane apartment that showed no real significant details.
Wilson glanced at Grace, noticing the look on his face.
"Shouldn't have expected much. Despite my title, being a detective isn't profitable. I do it because it is my ambition. Nothing more, nothing less."
Well said.
His living situation was never shown in the novel, so Grace had no idea what type of housing he had. But now that he had seen it... it made more sense to him. A haggard man living in a haggard apartment.
Fits the bill. Grace thought. He walked closely behind Wilson as they entered the household. The older male placed his index finger over his closed lips.
"People are sleeping."
Going up to the second floor, Grace was met with a peculiar situation. The household situation was neither too messy nor clean. There was an appropriate amount of mess on the floor that it could be cleaned up in under ten minutes.
"The furthest to the right is your room. You can use the shower after me. If you're hungry--make it yourself. But make sure you buy it yourself also; I can't afford to feed both our mouths."
"I have no job."
"But you have money, no?"
"Yes..."
"That's your answer. Use it sparingly."
Truthfully, Grace only had hardly any Notes. And while he did bring food that would supplement him with necessary growth and nourish him correctly--he would run out sooner rather than later.
Ring!
Wilson felt his phone buzz. His face turned sour, his mouth going downside and his face filled with contempt. He pulled out his phone and answered it, placing it right next to his ear.
"Yeah? A case... right now? Got it..." He hung up from the call and released a sigh of tiredness and frustration.
"This damn city always causing trouble."
Grace was about to move towards the door in order to tag along with him, but Wilson stopped him before he could touch the doorknob.
"No, kid. You're staying. And no ifs or buts--it's final. Get some rest and be ready by 7." Grace had no time to argue as Wilson rushed out the door and jumped into his car in a matter of seconds.
Staring at the closed door, Grace sighed.
What a wonderful start to his first day - or night - as an apprentice.