Vigiles.

"Baeron?"

"Yeah, Summerson?"

The younger, curlier-headed gentleman sighed as he stared down the small, shoddy brick pathway to a suitably shoddy house. "I hate my job."

"We always do, the first few months." Summerson glanced back at his senior advisor and received a sunny, encouraging smile from the huge, dark man.

"I heard the paperwork only gets worse."

The strong man's smile faded a few watts. "I suppose, but you sort of just get used to it. Y'know, numb. First it's a terrible ordeal, but later on you're just sort of resigned to it and detached."

"Like hypothermia." Summerson sighed, his sharp-angled eyebrows rising incredulously.

In his normal half-oblivious state, Baeron grinned again and nodded. "Exactly. Like hypothermia. Now shut up. We have a summons to carry through."

Summerson sighed and pulled experimentally at a red-brown corkscrew lock that hung before his eyes.

"Summerson," Baeron boomed from a few yards ahead.

"Eh?"

"Did you remember the neutralizers?"

"Eh..." The young man glanced around, his eyebrows raised, his eyelids lowered. "Oh, left it in the wagon. A moment, Baeron."

"We don't have an unlimited time window," the large man sighed, his voice still level and lightly therapeutic. In a matter of minute, Summerson had returned to the shiny, dark car they had arrived in and wrenched a cumbersome silver briefcase from the back seat. Baeron straightened his sharp black suit, but did not wait for his associate to catch up, instead preferring to take long, productive strides towards the house. Summerson tottered behind and swore.

The shoddy house's door proved to be the only visually favorable piece of the entire structure. The mahogany glistened in a way that made Summerson quite uncomfortable. He was about to ask his supervisor whether or not he should attempt to neutralize any threat when the enormous man shot forward, planting his foot in the door's center, splitting the hinges and lock, and rode the now useless scrap of wood into the house's living room.

The sound was incredible, and in the piercing silence that followed such a noteworthy ruckus, the shallow, terrified breathing of someone towards the back of the room could be heard. The darkness seemed impenetrable to Summerson, who hung back, standing in the shaft of light that streamed, golden, from the door's sorry frame.

"By order of the National Association of the Legal and Just Use of Spellcraft and Natural Magics, you are the submit to the accusations and inquiries of whatever officers may be entering your homestead." Baeron took a deep breath before continuing. "Any resistance to said accusations, inquiries, or their resulting effects will be seen as the assaulting of a federal officer and will be seen as a choice to void both your rights as a wielder/practicer, your right to an intact home, and potentially your life. Do I make myself clear, citizen?"

Summerson groaned internally. He hated his job, but this was the crowning champion of hated moments involved. He knew what Baeron would say, and to what effect, before it occured.

"Accused Citizen, to refrain from answering is a form of resistance. Please answer or void your rights."

"YES." The voice cried from the backmost reaches of the room. "Yes, you've made yourself clear!" The pathetic tremble blossomed into a wrenched sob by the sentences' end.

"Very good." Baeron nodded, before turning to Summerson. "Would you please give me the citizen's file of charges?"

"Yeah." Summerson grunted, clipping open the briefcase, and pushing aside several different samplings of plants, bones, and aged papers before snatching up a pristine manilla file folder. Baeron grabbed it from his hand and strode forward into the darkness, following the shaft of light's path.

"So- Guylerus Zer-Shadiem, you have been accused of the following acts of unlawful spellcraft: On March the 23rd of this year, it was recorded that you took out a large-scale insurance policy on your only very previously purchased second house in Grecian Falls, the High City's Goblin district. You also insured your alchemy study laboratory and several other choice expensive objects that were contained in said house. On March the 27th, the house was destroyed in a freak accident that involved the raining of very large, car-sized meteorites, which were reportedly molten and flaming, into your house, and their consequential, yet inexplicable, detonation. Remarkably, all this you were insured against-" Baeron cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows before continuing. The soft weeping intensified. "You are hereby suspected of what the NALJUSNM calls Supernatural Fraud, by means of several chaos and misfortune charms. Do you have any response to these charges?"

The weeping stopped. A shaky voice stumbled, feeble from the darkness. "What, just because I'm not one of you light-dwelling races, I'm supposed to be capable of chaos and misfortune charms?" It sniffled. "Sounds like you can be suspected of what I called Supernatural Racism, buddy."

"I don't think that's likely." Baeron murmured, turning his eyes back down to the file. "Did you honestly expect us to overlook this blatant misuse of charms, Zer-Shadiem? Not only will this count as Supernatural Fraud, it's probably a strong bet towards Spellcraft-assisted Terrorism. Four were seriously injured in the meteor shower your charms induced."

"Ah-ah-ah," the voice called, patronizing, but still breaking slightly. "You're not supposed to imply ownership just yet, are you? No, you're not. I might just sue you for improper conduct towards a suspect."

"Oh, slay me." Baeron growled, and snatched the briefcase from Summerson's hands. A quick search produced a small plastic bag filled with a fine crumbled stone, a few bright orange petals, and one of the weathered paper scrolls.

"What are you doing?" The voice asked, wavering.

"Standard procedure for difficult suspects, citizen. Don't worry." Baeron grinned, emptying the stone onto the scroll, and then pressing three of the petals into the mix. The scroll suddenly exploded into a cold blaze that did not burn, but instead flew into harmless embers that fled from Baeron's touch and swilred about the ceiling, illuminating the entire room in a chilling, white light.

"NO!" The voice screamed, before lapsing into pitiful shrieks. Summerson could now see its source, a figure curled up upon a ragged couch pressed against the room's back wall. His gnarled green-brown hands and batlike light green wings were thrown before his face, and in the blinding light, the scales that covered his skin in isolated, armored patches shone.

"The light's not dimming until you tell us what you had to do with this case, Zer-Shadiem."

"Cruel and unusual punishment!" The Jinn screamed, clawing at his eyes. Summerson could have sworn he glimpsed blue-black blood slipping from beneath the armored scales and the demon's hands.

"Was your intention to collect a profit, Zer-Shadiem?"

The screaming continued for a few more moments. Baeron rolled his eyes, and began to stride forward.

"NO!" Zer-Shadiem screamed, and threw a hand out towards Baeron, pleading with him to halt. "No- I- Yes, yes, I wanted to turn a profit! I wanted to burn the damn thing to the ground and get more than I ever paid for! Just make the light go away!"

"Very good." Baeron smiled, jotting down the quote on a notebook he produced from his suit pocket. "Guylerus Zer-Shadiem, you are hereby on house arrest while we investigate these claims and file your formal charges. In accordance with this new status, we will be confiscating all means of travel from you, and placing a charm on all exits. Thank you." Baeron strode to the jinn, who continued to writhe, and kicked him from the couch, to the floor. "Summerson, come hold his hands down- I don't need any more burns from these types."

Summerson didn't move.

"Summerson, come."

Slowly, the curly-haired boy peeled himself from the wall and walked to the suspect, kneeling at his side.

"Thank you," Baeron said forcefully.

"What are you doing??" Zer-Shadiem whimpered as Baeron's hands found the armored root stalk of the demon's wings.

"Are his hands secure?" Baeron asked, and Summerson nodded slowly, all the while pondering how did he ended up in such a career. "Good."

The first wrenching motion was the most painful, Summerson would later be told by an incarcerated Dijinn. That's when the nerves start to go, but the bones only splinter. At any rate, Summerson had to apply his entire not-substantial weight to keep the demon's claws from flying up into a spellcraft symbol of damnation. He was howling at a completely new decibel. Baeron readjusted himself and prepared to pull again. Summerson pressed his weight into the demon's hands, and shut his eyes, turning his head away. As Baeron yanked, Zer-Shadiem's claws slipped out from under Summerson's hands.

Before the young operative could realize what had happened, the demon had attached himself to Baeron's chest and was clawing at the magical shielding that all operatives received before missions. Baeron tried to brush him away, but the fervor of the attacks could not be halted. The demon slashed through the first shield, and found his claws buried in another magical cover, this one purely illusion. Still, he tore on. Baeron suddenly yelled out, seizing the demon's wrists as the illusion that surrounding his head began to dwindle. As he threw the jinn to the floor, his head and face were completely changed, and where the handsome visage of a dark human had once been, a huge stag's head and antlers now resided.

Summerson had seen Baeron's true face before, but he could never be fully accustomed to seeing a man with the head of a beast appear so suddenly where a normal human had once stood.

Enraged, Baeron planted his foot in Zer-Shadiem's back and with a final, heartfelt tug, separated the demon's wings from the rest of his body. Summerson tried to not see the gaping holes from which the jinn's blood now poured, tried not to hear the final pathetic cries of a creature who had lot his purpose, but failed utterly in both. He hated his job, he hated the story that was being written for him in the recesses of his memory, hated the words, the images, the missions he could and would never forget. He walked from the house, numb, and waiting until Baeron had replaced the door in its place to instill the locking charm. As they slid into the beautiful black car, Baeron laughed.

"Sure did a number on me, hmm?" The words were strange as they poured from a beast-man's mouth. "Nevermind that, though. God, I love this job."

{MAGICAL MEN-IN-BLACK FTW!}