7.3: Secret Tracking

??: “Damn it, how did me manage to slip away again...”

MC: “Hey.”

??: “Who are you?!”

??: “Ahhh!”

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MC: “Lacks a weapon and any soft of defensive gear. Aside from pretending to act tough, he’s not trained.”

MC: “If he’s a professional hitman, he’s really, really pathetic...”

Rafayel: “It could all be an act, you know. Knocking him down in one fell swoop... Wanna do an encore?”

A middle-aged man wearing a mask is huddled in the corner, his body shaking as he hears those words. He’s the epitome of anxiety.

??: “I... I’m not a murderer! I’m just a guy trying to get a scoop!”

As the man struggles, a piece of paper slips out form his chest pocket.

Rafayel picks it up, blows off the dirt, and holds it toward the sunlight.

Rafayel: “A reported from Weekly Arts... Joe.”

MC: “You know them?”

Rafayel: “A second-rate art magazine. They scrape by on tidbits they pry from socialities and artists.”

He notices something. His gaze moves down as he takes a weird-looking button from the man’s shirt.

Rafayel: “This hidden camera... wasn’t cheap, right?”

A tiny flame bursts from Rafayel’s finger. It turns the “button” into ash.

Rafayel: “Is there anything newsworthy about me to grace your journalism?”

Joe: “L-listen to me. Whatever you do, please don’t hurt me. I-it’s because of that collector! Raymond!”

Joe: “He’s... dead.”

The air is still for a moment. Shocked, Rafayel and I exchange a glance.

Maybe it’s because we’re entering his field of expertise that Joe straightens his posture. He wipes the dirt from his face. A spark of excitement is in his eyes, the thrill of discovering gossip.

Joe: “He died last night!”

Joe: “Drowned in his bathtub. No one knew until the next day. Whem the butler found him, it was already to late.”

MC: (Was Raymond attacked by Wanderers? No... They should be long gone by now.)

Joe: “The police already searched his home and looked through the surveillance tapes. They found nothing, not even another person walking into his room. But—”

MC: “Cut to the chase.”

Joe: “The picture painted by Rafayel had vanished from his collection room”

Joe: “I’ve heard the rumors. Some say that before he died, he made a bunch of cuts into his arms and legs. His skin looked like a bunch of fish scales. It’s awful, if I do say so myself.”

Joe: “And the moment a rich guy is dead, the police are quick to cover it up. They’re scared a secret will be revealed, one that’ll cost them their jobs... But there’s no such thing as a secret that can’t be hidden.”

Joe: “Mr. Rafayel, are you sure you didn’t have a hand in his death? Can your paintings  actually manipulate people?”

Rafayel: “Even if they did, I wouldn’t tell you. Also, you said he died last night. I was in my studio during that time and didn’t go anywhere. Any. Where. But I do agree it’s a tragedy.”

Rafayel: “Ooor are you saying... you wanna ask Raymond himself?”

Joe: “N-no, n-not at all! I don’t ... I told you everything I know. Can you please let me go this time?”

Rafayel: “Sure, sure. I’ll even throw in something extra for you.”

Rafayel: “Tomorrow I’ll be instucting my agent to lodge a complaint about your deployable stalking behavior to your superiors and cancel our exclusive column interview. I reckon you’ll bw jobless soon.”

Rafayel speaks in a relaxed manner. He leans in, a radiant smile plastered on his face.

Rafayel: “Sooo, why don’tcha do me a favor and investigate who’s trying to hide all that info you just talked about?”