Chapter 1
Life has annoying way of sucking. If you try harder, you get screwed, regardless if the outputted quality of work is amazing or not. And by you, I mean me. To the human eye, I’m Andrew Sun, a twenty-three-year-old salaryman (slash undercover cop) working at an office and gym product company called Sol Inc. To the supernatural eye, I’m Andrew Sun, sorcerer at an organization codenamed Sol Inc. dedicated to arresting or executing witches, wizards, evil spirits, demons, you name it. Great life, isn’t it? Well if you love mediocre pay, brutal hours, and snobby coworkers, it’s perfect. Look past the assholes, the long days of caffeine and well…actually it still sucks.
And that brings us to what I’m doing at this moment. Paper pushing –typing up reports, managing paperwork, you know that sort of thing all while trying to tune out Angela’s loud phone conversation in the cubicle next to me. I swear she’s one of the most annoying co-workers in work history. I wanted to yell at her to shut up but didn’t. Instead, I sat there pushing a stack of papers from one side of my desk to the other. Literal paper pushing I guess, hopefully to kill enough time so that when she finally shuts up I can focus. She so does not deserve her B rank status. I glanced at my finished report of last night’s flawless arrest that no one gave a damn about. No damage done, freaking AK-47s neutralized, and two sexy witches taken into custody.
First things first, let’s get something straight, because if you’re reading this tome, you need to know. Sorceresses and witches are sort of different. Sorceresses don’t do black magic nor its sub-form counterpart witchcraft. That shit’s for witches, who love blood, sacrificing innocent animals and PEOPLE. Disgusting fuckers, even if hot. This same concept applies for the difference between sorcerers and wizards. Wizards love that black magic shit while legitimate sorcerers like myself don’t. And we’re skilled enough to require ZERO sacrifices to perform spells and whatnot. So don’t let society force you to believe that sorcerers and wizards are basically the same thing because we’re not. It’s like believing that hotdogs and sausages are the same. No. Get over it. Are we clear?
Anyway, ten minutes passed and Angela still yapped. Just make the damn business deal already! God, it sucked to be a measly C-rank, grunt. We’re placed on the lowest level assignments, often getting stuck with everyone’s bullshit paperwork. We’re like the Average Joe’s of the company. And it’s not like I’m weak. My magic is at its best when the sun’s in the sky, peaking at noon. I can take on the highest ranks if I wanted. But I can’t. Nope, my real magic has to stay a secret. It’s “lost” magic for a reason. Sol Inc. is a force for good but that didn’t mean I’d trust them with this knowledge.
I glanced at the clock. Eleven. Thank you sweet mother of Jesus, lunch break. I pulled my Sol. Inc. ID out of the computer’s card slot, causing it to auto-lock, and proceeded toward the exit. The sun felt great even if noon lied just an hour away. The office was cold enough to make my balls retract into my stomach. You’d think the suit would help but it didn’t. Anyway, I was just a mere inch from my car when my phone rang. The caller ID read: Bruce. I answered.
“How could you leave me out of the action last night? Two hotties? You greedy motherfucker.”
“Correction,” I said. “Two hot witches armed with Ak-47s. The mission was supposed to be simple, not that fucking dangerous.”
“Still, hotties. Interrogating them is difficult –keep getting distracted by the knockers.”
“And Bruce, that’s why you’ll never get promoted past a C-rank,” I said.
“You’ll be stuck right with me you son-of-a-player,” he laughed. I laughed too.
“Fuck this company.”
“I second that,” Bruce said. “Wanna go to the Fire, down some burgers and beers?”
“And when we’re drunk enough, call Angela for a ride,” I added.
Bruce laughed. “She’s going to be so pissed but unable to refuse.”
“Sounds like a plan, later man,” I said.
“Later.”
I hung up. Good times. B-ranks and higher have a responsibility to make sure lower ranks are in good hands. Which sucks for Angela –if one of us call her to be a designated driver, she must do it. This way of annoying her works only because she doesn’t drink. Three in the morning, here we come!
Wendy’s had a damned long line when I arrived. It wouldn’t be so bad if not for the fat guy in front of me bitching about his mother, wife, father, grandfather, and daughter. And to me of all people! Like I cared. I tried to ignore him but had no luck. Fat man was loud too. Not just any type of loud but of the obnoxious breed, like a bitchy woman attempting to make a scene. I gave thanks to Jesus again when the fat man finally received his giant bag of greasy food and left. Woo! Almost lost my appetite.
“I’ll have two double bacon burgers, extra bacon,” I told the cashier. She smiled politely, taking my money, returning the receipt. I noticed something strange about it. Really strange. For one, a tiny pentagram was drawn on the far right corner, accompanied with a tiny drop of blood in the center. Seriously? I think she didn’t count on me utilizing something called Attention to Detail. A lot of witches and wizards wanted us dead. You must be a survivor to be a part of Sol Inc.
I dropped the receipt, pulled out my badge, and watched as the cashier made a run for it. She was built like a track runner, hot actually, redheaded. Fuck…well there goes lunch. Everyone around looked confused. If only they knew.
I let the redhead think she got away but sadly for her, she’d get caught and face hard charges. I even took the time to pull out some tweezers (they come in handy), a small plastic bag, and stuff the receipt inside. Good evidence.
So why am I taking my sweet ass time? Well for one, she can’t escape. When the sun is in the sky, I can use it to see everything. Kind of like peeking into binoculars with Ultra HD perception. But at the same time, I also see from my own perspective. Double vision! This ability did have its limitations but that’s beside the point. It’s awesome. No, I don’t use it for perverted activities. And I drink only at night. It’s tiring for prolonged use.
Anyway, I watched the witch enter an abandoned warehouse. Yep, must call backup for this one. There could be a shit ton of witches inside –I’d be screwed! No one would find the body.
I pulled out my phone and dialed the number to dispatch –the private line of course.
“This is Sun verification code two four nine. Witch in pursuit. Requesting backup. Location, warehouse three on nine eight, eight main street.” I hung up. I could already sense the magic in the air. Oh yeah, Dispatch gets them out quickly. I hurried to the warehouse but waited on the side. I decided not to monitor any further with the sun to converse energy. That could seriously drain a third of my power within fifteen minutes –even if I don’t continuously peep. Well, this turned out to be a terrible idea because as soon as I fully disconnected my sight from the sun, I felt the cool barrel of a handgun caressed the back of my head. Shit.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
