{There are some rogue witches that the government wants you to hunt down}
The police station hummed with printers, keyboards, and the occasional barked order, but most of that faded into the background as two officers stood near the front desk.
"It's another rogue on the loose again," A woman said, waving a thin folder at his coworker. "The person said he got robbed by a ghost."
"Speaking of rogues, I hope we find some way to deal with Dora."
"The police force is too powerless to go after him, just leave it to the witches, that's their only use after all, to be tools." Her fingers rubbed against the surface of the paper. "I just hope we don't get another case like Senerva again."
The other officer chuckled. "It's either bullshit or bullshit. Last week we had the woman who swore her neighbor was running a cult made of hamsters. We don't get normal anymore."
Delaney dropped the folder on the counter. "I miss normal."
From the holding cells in the back, a boy, no older than 25 shouted, "I want a lawyer! A good one! Not the guy from the commercials!"
A Sergeant walked out from his office with a coffee that smelled burnt enough to strip paint. "Delaney," he said with a authoritive tone, "stop traumatizing Ruiz with your paperwork and get over here."
Delaney followed him. Ruiz leaned over the desk and muttered, "If you quit, take me with you."
Inside the office, Hill shut the door. "Okay. What's with the ghost nonsense?"
"That's what he said," Delaney replied. "Claims the ghost stole his wallet, drove his car into a ditch, and then made fun of his haircut."
Hill blinked once. "Did we breathalyze him?"
"Three times."
"And?"
"Stone sober."
Hill pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's probably a rogue Witch with a mutation. Write it up as petty theft and property damage, someone like that is too difficult to deal with. Leave the haircut part out."
"Makes us look too sympathetic?"
"Makes us look bored."
Delaney nodded and headed for the door. Before he exited, Hill called out, "And tell Ruiz to stop ordering takeout from that cursed place down the street. Everyone smells like onions."
The front door opened with the ding of a bell.
The front desk office, a round man with a mustache and eyes that had dark circles underneath—barely glanced up when the door opened. A tall stranger had walked in, his eyes glowing a yellow amber and his hair was a dirty brown. Dark hoodie, hands in pockets, posture loose, bored. He simply walked like he belonged, head tilted slightly as if he were just trying to remember where he parked his car.
"Morning."
"Morning." The officer replied, already back to his paperwork. Forms, forms, and more forms, racking his brain over the stacks of paper in front of him.
The stranger wandered deeper into the station, past the holding cells where a disheveled drunk snored softly against the bars, past the interrogation rooms with their fogged glass, past the bulletin board layered in yellowing memos no one had removed in months.
He calmly walked through towards the back, with no sense of urgency or rush, his hand hovering over his mouth to cover up a yawn. The stranger then stopped in front of a steel cabinet, his eyes wandering over the hundreds of paper notes attached to each one.
The clerk responsible for guarding them was seated in a busted swivel chair that creaked each time he shifted. He was currently on the phone explaining for the third time. "Excuse me, but no. I don't think that you can file a report about pigeons."
Ruiz's eyes wandered over to the stranger.
"I feel like I've seen him before, I can't pinpoint it. Is he new?"
"I dunno." Delaney, shrugged. "But I've never seen the guy."
Ruiz's eyes stared down at the file on the table, then his sight flickered back on to the stranger. "T-that's him! That's the-"
Bang
The sound was sharp and clean. Ruiz's skull folded inward as red fanned across the paperwork he'd been sorting. His knees buckled, chair clattering as his body hit the floor.
The precinct went silent for half a heartbeat—paper still fluttering in the air.
Then everything started to catch up.
"You could've made this easy." The stranger spoke with an unconcerned tone. "But I guess I'll just have to kill all of you."
The cops immediately took out their weapons, pointing all of their muzzles towards him from all sides.
"IT'S DORA!!" The Seargent yelled out loud. "FIRE!!!"
Dora's entire body was instantly filled with holes, blood spurted from every single orafice of his body, his knees started to buckle and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. But the grip on his gun stayed firm, the fabrics on his shirt were torn and a deep warm crimson ran down his lips.
He stood there, smiling, blood raining off him in wet sheets.
"Is this truly the police force?" He said, teeth red. " How reprehensible, I rushed here thinking that you all will at least amount to something. If all of you were truly weak I wonder why the other witches haven't stood up to you."
He stepped forward. Bullets punched through him again.
Dora reached down, grabbed Ruiz's corpse by the collar, and lifted it. Blood poured into Dora's mouth as his fangs sank in.
"Even with my powers weakened, taking you on poses no challenge."
Wounds closed. Skin knitted. Fabric rewove itself like time being rewound by lazy fingers.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
His bloody ringer ran across the wooden surface of the desk, grabbing one of the legs of the table and lifting it up into the air with a single hand. It spun once, edge-first, and split two officers open from shoulder to hip. They folded without a sound.
"You pitiful humans."
"EVERYONE RUN!"
Dora's legs shook as bullets pierced through his legs, as he started to stumble over himself as he held onto a table as to make sure he didn't trip, he ripped out another desk and threw it towards the running officers, piercing through their heads with the edges of the table.
"Oops, guess you didn't run fast enough."
He pulled what was left of the bullet out of his leg, throwing it onto the ground.
Dora stood in front of the cabinets once again, scanning the labels with mild curiosity. He plucked open a drawer labeled O–R, leafed through folders until he found a particular sealed case file, slid it neatly under his hoodie, then closed the drawer with the same care a librarian uses to shelve a favorite book. No rush, no tremble, no second-guessing.
"This must be what Lady Rouge asked of me."
A shriek cut the air.
Steel punched into his arm.
Poison burned like liquid glass.
Dora hissed.
He grabbed his forearm, twisted, and tore it off. It hit the floor wetly. Another arm crawled out of his shoulder, bone cracking, muscle knitting.
Dora immediately hid behind a wall, his eyes glowing a deep yellow.
[Using poison is such a nasty little trick, if the sun wasn't here then I would've been able to easily shake that off, I need to get as close as possible]
Another spike flew past him even as he hid behind a corner.
[Are they just blindly shooting?]
The spike took a sudden turn, flying straight at him, digging into his shoulder instantly. Dora flinched, as the poison started quickly spreading through his blood vessels, and rushing up towards his neck.
[Is this a technique? A homing projectile? But telekinesis can't go this far, it must a reincarnation]
Dora pressed his thumb onto his nose as the blood ejected from his nose.
[If they do that again, I doubt that I'll be able to pick out the poison, just regenerating my arm took a lot of mana]
He ran behind the large steel cabinet, grabbing one of its steel legs and throwing it towards the general direction of whoever was attacking him.
Standing in front of him was a tall, broad-shouldered woman, her ginger hair cascading past her collarbones in a fiery mess that caught the morning light. Reina ran her fingers through her hair as she broke apart the flying cabinet with long thin knives that were lodged between her fingers. "Let's make this quick, I have some kids waiting for me back home."
Hiding behind the broken cabinet was Dora, the moment Reina sliced through the steel, he pounced on her, launching her into the building behind her.