Stanley Stagg.
The name of the individual that Grace would have to masquerade as. Wilson had walked over to the officers, discussing how him and Grace thought it would be best for the identity of the victim to not divulged to the public.
As if the identity was announced, then any possibility of creating confusion within Ken's head would be impossible. Grace waited by the car, continuing to lean against the smooth metal exterior. Once finished, Wilson walked back to Grace. He gestured for him to hop in the car and the boy listened, making his way to the other side of the vehicle and jumping in the passenger seat.
"Where to?" Grace asked once Wilson snuggled himself into the driver's seat.
"My data informer."
"The guy you talk to over the phone?" Grace asked with genuine curiosity.
"Yeah. Him."
It was not only due to Wilson's brilliant - but also eccentric - mind that was getting these cases done at a consistent and constant rate, but it is also because of external help that he gets the basic surface-level information at the snap of his fingers that allowed him to be more efficient.
As long as he had basic information--he can make anything work!
Soon, Grace's perception of the world distorted, the car that he was seated in shooting straight at high speeds. The windows were down, the wind pouring into the inside of the car. It was swift, violent even. It made his hair dance in a terrific and distorting manner.
After about driving for fifteen or so minutes, Wilson stopped at a relatively remote area in the city. The buildings around them varied in length, but they didn't have remarkable features, meaning that they were closer towards the outskirts of the city rather than in the innards.
Wilson got out of the car and Grace followed. He stayed close behind, his speed being just a beat behind Wilson's. Turning a sharp corner, the two detectives stumbled upon an alleyway. Grace inwardly groaned.
Of course... Grace thought.
Wilson stopped walking, prompting Grace to do the same. Now standing in the ridiculous stench of the alleyway, Wilson called out a name.
"Martin."
A name was all it took. The single call resounded and a distortion to the brick wall towards their right began to waver. Swirls of mana swung and twisted before settling into a calm oval-shape wave of continuous swirls.
Step!
A figure suddenly appeared from behind the distortion of mana. A man in a tailored tuxedo - the blazer black, matching obsidian. And the undershirt white like snow - emerged from behind the swirls of mana.
Soon, his face emerged in suit. Blond hair that was short in length swept in the wind, framing his oval-shaped head. His face was relatively normal, and did not have an outstanding characteristics that shone.
"Looking like shit," Wilson said blatantly.
The man - Wilson - merely chuckled as he rubbed his eyes. Yes, now upon closer inspection, Grace was able to see the dark eye bags that hung under his brown eyes.
"Being put into overtime does this to you." Martin looked at Grace and nodded his head in acknowledgement.
"Well," Martin turned around. "Come in." He entered the portal, his figure being consumed completely. Grace allowed Wilson to go first, watching as his figure also was engulfed by the river of mana. Then Grace did the same, stepping into the portal.
Appearing on the other side, Grace was met with a large room that was lit by two fluorescent tubes that was situated on the ceiling. Around him was a bed that was neatly managed. Not to far away from him - to the left of the room - was a door that transparently showed the bathroom that was beyond it.
At the end of the room, though, was a computer.
"A pocket dimension? A space attribute?" Grace immediately questioned aloud. Martin briefly glanced at Grace, a small chuckle escaping his lips before he shook his head.
"Hardly. I'm not on that level. This is due to an artifact that is activated twenty-four-seven." Grace looked around a bit more, the space around them so uniquely fascinating.
It was not the contents of the room that he was fascinated by--it was the overarching existence that it signified.
They stood within an abstract existence.
Martin walked over to the computer screen and clicked the mouse a few times, guiding it before he got to the designated part of the computer that he wanted to show him.
Wilson glanced at Grace.
"While we could have gotten this over the phone, I though it would be best for you and Martin to meet in person. We will be working together a lot during this month." Grace nodded his head, agreeing with this line of thinking.
Grace turned back to the screen as Martin stepped to the side. A picture of Stanley Stagg was displayed for the two detectives to see.
"Very personal details were hard to come by, but that isn't necessary for you to carry out the role of Stanley Stagg. This file will outline the basic behavior that you must mimic in order to successfully pass as Stanley Stagg."
Martin looked at Grace, a thin smile appearing.
"Any acting experience?" Martin then asked.
Grace shrugged.
"A little."
Grace recalled his time as Allen Hart, thinking about when he was in his sixth grade theater performance as one of the main characters. He wasn't bad for a sixth grader, but he wouldn't claim to be anything more than an amateur.
Exchanging contact info with Martin, Grace got a hold of the file that Martin had previously showed him. Grace looked at his phone carefully as he carefully analyzed the behavior that Martin outlined for him.
[Back is hunch a tad bit. Maintains a neutral expression. Eyes slightly droopy. Hair usually disheveled. Talks very straightforwardly. Does not interact much with others. Apologizes accordingly.]
There was more, but Grace got the general gist of things from this short analysis. Grace looked up from his phone and locked eyes with Martin. The former then nodded his head, signifying that he knew what he needed to do.
"Great," Martin said with a hint of tiredness. "I look forward to what you have in store for us."
Wilson stood still for moment before he turned around, making his way to the portal that would lead him back to the real world.
"Let's get going," Wilson grinned. "You're late for work."
~~~
The crowds were loud, bustling with seas of people. Their heads stuck up like sore thumbs, their shoes - depending on the type - created constant clacks and taps, with the occasional scrape of the soles of the shoes.
Ken's shoes - dirtied and ugly - scraped along the concrete pavement. His body was clad in the same hoodie that he wore before, and his head ducked slightly downward, his gaze avoiding the eyes of others.
Slowly, Ken emerged from the crowd, his eyes landing on a large building that had a logo of an arrow surrounded in a metal gear. He stood next to a coffee shop, undoing the hood of the hoodie in order to not garner suspicious gazes.
10:42.
That was the time when he checked his phone. Usually, all the workers were there by 9 or a bit over as this was a regular 9 to 5 job. Crossing the street, Ken felt his heart pound with significance.
Kill.
He hid his hands that began to tremble. The urge to kill all of these people - the workers that were just beyond these walls - grew immensely. Holding it all in has been difficult, but the anticipation danced crazily.
Not... yet... Ken told himself, biting his tongue in order to calm his heart.
Revenge... it must be sweet... He reassured himself. Despite the urges that grew, he had to force it all down, burying it until the day of reckoning.
Sweet... yes... very very sweet. He licked his lips, a shaky breath expelled.
He couldn't kill the next victim - Brian Ern - just yet. He had to wait for things to not only cool off, but also in order for Ken to... get to "know" Brian Ern.
He loved it.
Watching them. Seeing the complacency in their lives and the comfortability that they lived in. It makes all the more better when he snatches their lives away from them. Their eyes drowning, the luster disappearing.
That is sweetness.