Magnus locked the apartment door behind the detective, listening to the deadbolt grind shut like a final word in a conversation he wished hadn't happened.
The flat felt colder once Fulger was gone. Quieter. Too quiet for comfort.
Magnus stood there with his hand still on the lock, thumb resting against the metal as if holding it in place could hold the rest of his life together too. When he finally let go, his voice slipped out before he even realised he'd spoken:
"What've you gotten yourself into, Brad…?"
The room didn't answer. It never did.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair and crossed to his desk, waking the SkillSphere app on his phone with a tap. The glass orb on the screen pulsed with soft light, runic circuitry flaring as it synced to his biometrics. He searched for Brad's profile, hoping, stupidly, that something had changed since the last time he checked.
"Inactive. Two months, one week, four days."
The emptiness of that status bar hit harder than any reply could have.
He flicked over to messaging and typed out something brief to Pete, a mutual friend of the both of them. Nothing dramatic, nothing that would scare him off, just:
"Heard from a detective about Brad. Know anything?"
Pete's reply came almost instantly, which in itself was unusual.
"Meet me. Diner near Parkhurst. Half an hour."
No explanation. No small talk. Magnus read the message twice before grabbing his coat.
Two train stops later, the evening crowds thinned and the streets took on that muted glow cities get right before the nightlife surges and the day-dwellers hide in their homes. Magnus walked to the diner, shoulders hunched against a breeze that smelled faintly of rain and petrol.
"Sir!" A man's voice sounded out from behind Magnus.
"Yes?" Magnus asked, taking a cautious step back.
"You look like you have a natural charismatic air about you! I'm good at seeing that sort of thing. David Blythe, S-Rank Talent Scout."
True to his words, the man held a holographic SkillSense card out, revealing his details to Magnus instantly.
"What do you want?"
"I've got a wonderful career opportunity that would suit someone like you perfectly! How's a spokesperson for SkillSense themselves!"
"Oh, now that's irony. I couldn't care less about what those men-playing-gods are selling."
"Such a fresh opinion on the people who have created this utopia for us! I'm sure you'd be a great fit! Here's my card. If you change your mind, do give me a call and you won't regret it!"
Magnus took it, and instead of listening to his emotions and throwing it away, he shoved it in his pocket.
As the man hurried off, chatting with another passerby moments later, Magnus kept walking down the street.
The diner was tucked between a laundromat and an old arcade. The windows fogged lightly from the warmth inside, glowing with amber light. Quaint wasn't a word Magnus used often, but the diner was quaint. The kind of place that felt unchanged by the city around it.
He ordered a peach tea and sat in the corner booth, tapping the table lightly with his fingertips. The tea arrived steaming and fragrant, a sweetness rising with the curl of vapour that warmed his nose. He hadn't eaten since midday. Hunger crept in, so he ordered the cheapest sandwich on the menu. Egg, lettuce, white bread, barely held together with margarine. It tasted like school lunches.
'There's definitely not a high-ranking chef or cook here.'
Magnus caught himself before the thought could grip him further and felt sick.
'That stupid talent scout. This world corrupts everyone. It doesn't matter what skill ranks people are. Everyone has a place for them in this world.'
By the time Pete arrived, Magnus was staring out the window at nothing in particular, sandwich crusts piled neatly like an afterthought pushed to the plate's edge.
Pete spotted him, hesitated in the doorway as if someone had shoved a hand to his chest, then forced himself forward. He looked the same, dark curls, soft features, a bit pale from not enough sunlight, but his eyes darted, wide and uncertain. Fear clung to him like sweat.
Magnus stood, hugged him briefly to break the tension, then motioned for him to sit.
"You alright?" Magnus asked quietly.
Pete swallowed, nodding. "Yeah. Just… didn't want to talk on the phone. Not about… him."
Magnus pushed the menu towards Pete, and Pete shook his head anxiously.
Magnus leaned forward. "So... what happened?"
Pete exhaled, shoulders slumping. "We… went to a club, right? Months back. Thought it'd be just another night. But Brad... he didn't let it go. Went back. Again. Again. Eventually every day. Said it made him feel like he belonged. Like he was part of something bigger."
Magnus held his tea between his palms, letting the warmth sink into his skin.
"Drugs?" he asked.
Pete shook his head immediately. Too quickly for uncertainty. "As a rehabilitation attendant, I work with addicts every day. I've seen every sign. Shakes, sweats, bruising, injection sites, glassy eyes, blown pupils…" He listed off the symptoms like an ingredients list for a recipe.
"And?" Magnus asked.
"And Brad had none of that. But he was addicted. Just not to anything I recognised."
Magnus frowned. "What did he call it?"
"Pulse," Pete whispered, eyes flicking to the window as if someone might be listening.
The name lingered in the air like a knife twisting between them.
Magnus muttered under his breath, not quite meaning to speak aloud, "Maybe that detective was right…"
Pete's brow rose. "Detective?"
Magnus sighed. "Yeah, I mentioned in my message. Came knocking earlier. Asking about Brad. Said he was mixed up in something… trouble, maybe. But it's Brad. He does dumb things, sure, but-"
"The same Brad," Pete cut in, "who jumped off a roof swearing he'd stick the landing, and pancaked the lawn instead?"
Magnus winced, trying not to laugh at the memory of Brad, red-faced and gasping for air after his mountain of confidence crumbled.
"Fuck. Yeah, that Brad."
Pete stared down at his hands. "Maybe we should look for him."
"I think maybe we should," Magnus echoed.
They traded a glance, the kind that said neither wanted to do this alone.
"I'll check out the club," Magnus said. "You talk to Brad's parents. Go see if they've heard anything."
Pete looked at him as if he'd just suggested swimming with sharks. "Brad's parents?"
Magnus rolled his eyes. Pete didn't need to say anything; his expression said enough.
"Fine… I'll go see his parents..." Magnus muttered.
Magnus finished what was left of his meal, stacking the dishes neatly and draining the last of his tea. He paid in exact change at the counter. No tip. He wished he could afford one, but also hated tipping culture.
Pete left first, hands buried in his jacket pockets.
Magnus stayed just long enough to have to convince himself he wasn't hesitating.