VIDEO TITLE: GEO NEWS LIVE – LATEST NEWS 24/7
CHANNEL: GEO NEWS
TIME: 8.00PM, MARCH 17 2013
ALT TEXT: The news reporter is delivering the news. Two pictures are shown of a man. He is a White man in his 30s, with short black hair and green eyes. He is wearing a turtleneck sweater that covers his skin. A pop up states his address as ‘1/239k, Mahogany Road, Good Lord’s Neighbourhood’. An icon states to dial 01234568 if you have information on his whereabouts.
SUBTITLES: “- needs your help to find this man. His name is Ashton Weils, 34 years old, last seen within his own house before mysteriously disappearing. At the time of his disappearance, he was wearing a grey turtleneck and long pants. He disappeared within 5 minutes, making police suspect a kidnapping. If you have any information on where he may be, please call the police. It is of absolute urgency that he is found safely.”
There are 2 reactions.
The first takes place in a dingy apartment room. The light overhead flickers with the impatience of a campfire licking away at marshmallows. The floorboards creak so loudly, it almost drowns out the audio from the small phone screen. The occupant of this small house has this specific clip on loop, the phone haphazardly laying on top of various musty spellbooks as its owner is rifling through a drawer of trinkets.
He mutters a few swears under his breath as he finds all the wrong trinkets. The grooves on each rock aren’t what he’s looking for. He once meticulously categorised them by capabilities, but none are suiting the case at hand.
As he swears and curses, the foolscap paper on the table flies off, as if blown by the wind. It lands on his head. He grabs it, his hand obscuring the numerous question marks around trivial information gathered on the security measures of the Weils household. The paper is mostly blank.
He spends another 30 minutes of searching, both online and physically, all in vain. He slumps to the ground, putting his head in his hands. On the corkboard behind him, a neon yellow post-it-note with the address of the city’s main police station stands out against the dull newspaper clippings.
POLICE INCOMPETENT IN SEARCHING FOR NEW ACTIVIST??
POLICE ACCUSED OF USING ‘EXTREME FORCE’ BY EXTREMISTS
CITIZENS ADVISED TO BEWARE ADVENTURERS
The man gets up without sparing a single glance at the post-it-note. He’s already had the address long memorised, and the only thing he brings out with him is a single crystal from his trinket drawer. As he walks out into the cold night, the crystal transmutes back to an adventure’s profile.
NAME: ANGEL
ALSO KNOWN AS: ?
GENDER: N/A
SPECIALTY: ILLUSION MAGIC
CURRENT RESIDENCE: GOOD LORD’S NEIGHBOUHOOD
Scribbled in red marker is a string of loopy handwriting, as if someone is combining cursive writing with as many circles as they can think of.
‘If I may, please do visit me if you are capable of doing so. We could perhaps catch up, although I would prefer it if you were not being chased by local law enforcement. Sincerely, Angel.’
There is still the second reaction to the broadcast.
This one takes place in a wide, spacious house. The news is being broadcast on a large television screen in the second living room, at a volume loud enough that it can be heard from the bathroom. The door is locked, and a teenage boy is calmly texting on his phone.
D.W: You saw the broadcast?
A: Indeed. It was at the same time you informed us. Measures were taken, the police should be incapable of following our tracks.
D.W: From my last update, I think we have until tomorrow evening until she comes for him.
A: We shall have Mr Ashton in the sewers by then. She won’t be able to track us there, and the police…I believe they do not consider it an option. Please inform us if they do.
D.W: 👍
With that final message, the teenager sighs. He opens the hollowed out dictionary he brought into the toilet with him. He double, triple, then quadruple checks to ensure the phone is on silent before he hides it within the book again.
If he spends too long in the bathroom, one of the pigs will knock on the door and ask if he’s doing alright. For once, he doesn’t have to restrain the urge to grit his teeth thinking of them. For all their news, for all their violence, and claims of being good, they never helped. They certainly didn’t rescue Ashton. He doesn’t realise his nails are digging into his own hands, at least not until they break skin.
The teenager splashes water in his face. It’s no use getting worked up. It was hard enough to rescue Ashton from her. Annoyance and fear won’t get him anywhere. He has to trust that the others can rescue Ashton.
Yet for some odd reason, he can’t help but feel like he’s missing something.
SECURITY CAMERA FOOTAGE: CAMERA 07
LOCATION: MAIN POLICE STATION
TIME: 10.00PM, MARCH 16
ALT TEXT: There are seven people rushing throughout the main office. 4 are busy looking at a corkboard. On it is a picture of Ashton Wiles, wearing a black turtleneck sweater. It is a picture from a few years ago. Attached to the corkboard are post-it-notes detailing his job as the vicar, and details of various anti-religious extremist groups. The cops gathered in front of the corkboard all seem confused, and a security expert is arguing with them. 3 other cops are situated at their desks, frantically combing through information. An unknown man enters in a police uniform. He walks over to one of the desks, taking out a map for the sewers. He leaves.
The vigilante stands on top of a manhole cover. He gives the surroundings a quick look-over, just to ascertain that there isn’t anyone watching. He massages his jaw. Transmutating facial bones tends to leave people with a lasting ache, but the police office has seen him too many times to be fooled by minor changes.
Even while he pries open the manhole cover, details from the case are rushing through his brain. So many questions, but too little time. The priority is rescuing Ashton first, regardless if Angel really was involved in the kidnapping. For some reason though, he can’t get that one article out of his mind.
VICAR ASHTON’S BROTHER CLAIMS HE USED TO BE ‘A NOISY CHILD’.
Before our Vicar became the great leader he is today, he used to be a small child in the neighbourhood of a town, where his family still lives.
His brother, Delin Brick, says he’s grown up from the young child he used to be, and that he can hardly believe it.
“When he was a child, he was really noisy, ya know? I mean like, he’d always be chatting about one thing or another, whether it be scripture or magic- he was always a sucker for talking. Seems like he’s been able to reign it in on the news now, he used to bother random people on the street just to chat.”
“At first, he just wanted to be a small town priest, but then he met Esha- she was from the big city. I didn’t really like her at first but well, they’re happily married now. She encouraged him to move there, and now he’s the actual vicar. I’m…I’m really proud of him.”
CALLER: DELIN BRICK
RECIPIENT: WILES FAMILY HOUSE PHONE
TIME: 4.00AM, 17 March 2013
D.W:…hello?
D.B: Kid? Daniel, is that you?
D.W: …yeah.
D.B: Sorry for calling so late but it’s just- your mother’s been sending me updates on the case, but I know she isn’t at home right now, and I’m going to have a talk with her about her no electronics rule.
D.W: I’ve been fine, uncle. The police are looking for dad. I’m safe, there wasn’t any fighting in the house.
D.B: That’s a relief. You’ve been taking care of yourself? Your mom is already on a flight, but it’s still going to take her awhile to get there. I’m packing my bags, I’m going to head ove-
D.W: No.
D.B: …
D.W: Sorry, I just…it’s alright, uncle. Please just stay at your house. I know you haven’t seen us in a long while but…I have faith that dad’s going to be safe. People have been putting a lot of work and a lot of plans into rescuing him. You’ll be able to see him soon.
D.B: You’re a lot like your dad sometimes, kid. You don’t have to pretend you’re fine, but if you don’t want me over, I ain’t going to push.
D.W: …goodnight, uncle.
Daniel hangs up the phone. He mouths to the nearby cop that everything is fine. Everything is fine, even if the pigs don’t know that. He tugs at the collar of his turtleneck shirt. It’s a summer night, but he doesn’t feel right not wearing it.
In the middle of a fight, a drawn on map flies out of the man’s coat pocket. It gently descends to the ground, a contrast against the violent clashing of magic overhead. In red marker, a few different passages are circled, then crossed out. The last one, the uncrossed one, has scribbled notes stating it’s close to a bus station leading to a local town.
“Abul-”
Angel barely manages to say his name before they’re forced to resort to another spell, hurriedly shouting out the necessary words. Abul’s strikes land on an illusory duplicate. This exchange has been going on for the past 3 minutes. There’s no talking him out of this.
Out of nowhere, Abul mutters a few words, and the water of the sewers rise up in a cloud of steam. There’s a whirring sound like gears clicking into place, the sound of a magical doorway opening up.
“Angel, we’re leaving now.”
The conjuration specialist dashes a bright red dye on the sewer wall, and it opens up to a portal. She’s holding a sleeping Ashton on her back like a sack of potatoes. She glances back at Angel running out from the steam.
The glance is only a brief second, but it is long enough for the man wearing Angel’s face to yank Ashton back, just as the real Angel yells a warning. Abul grins as his disguise falls apart, and kicks the specialist into her own portal.
Footsteps echo throughout the sewers, security guards who had been attracted by the commotion. Angel looks at him with a look of desperation in their eyes. Abul can’t understand the reason, but he doesn’t care. This man has a family to get back to.
As he adjusts his position to carry the man properly, he notices that Ashton is wearing thermal layers under his turtleneck.
It is easy enough to sneak past the police guarding the household, as incompetent as they are. It’d be easier if he could just teleport in, but that needs the specific passcode and Abul doesn’t have the time to go on another investigation to figure it out.
Abul lands on the front porch of the house. The lights inside are still on, oddly bright. Like car headlights about to ram into a deer.
“Hey! Got Ashton Wiles back, safe and sound.”
The door creaks open, revealing a teenager no older than 16. He’s skinny, almost twig-like. He has his father’s green eyes, and long curly hair that Abul could only assume came from his mother. A necklace with the holy symbol hangs from his neck, outside a turtleneck sweater. What stands out the most though, is that look on his face that seems a lot like Angel’s. A look of desperation and horror.
There’s the sound of a car pulling up outside the household. Abul glances behind him, and there he sees her. Mrs Wiles, wearing a beautiful green dress. She looks frantic, worried. Her makeup has been well done, and there’s no bags under her eyes. She’s been sleeping well.
“Thank you, kind sir, for rescuing my husband from those kidnappers.”
Abul looks back at the teenager, whose face has gone to an almost neutral expression. He readjusts his collar, and for the first time, Abul finally sees the bruises hiding underneath the turtleneck.
Written by: Hoe Yan
Edited by: Amberlyn
