If Only Outrage Can Grant Wishes

Besides the words and strings of numbers, a major source of information was images. And the night did little to deter the boundless appetite of the cameras. The city lights slipped into the void left by the departed sun. Infrared sensors, thermal imaging, and high-sensitivity processors ripped away the mystery of the dark.

But no one cares about what happens above. Every vigilant observer was directed downward, hoping to get a slice of the pie, the rich nocturnal activity, maybe a glimpse of would-be criminals. Only buildings of interest would have surveillance at all angles.

Not an innocent apartment building in the middle of Minato City. Residents kept their curtains on at all times, so the captured footage would be like still images, with taste as bland as eating rice without side dishes. The data center needed much more feed for more magical inventions, and wasting resources on less than nutritious avenues would just be, unwise.

Occasionally, something would happen, but so what? Mount Fuji could also erupt. Possibilities that weren’t worth the investment.

Junk-o was thankful for this flaw created by corporate greed. She only had to worry about getting to the roof of the building. She snuck in the front door by following a resident. This building was advertised to have a truly private interior, free of security cameras except on the elevators and in the lobby. The government and data companies didn’t mind; they had other ways to spy on the residents.

Those methods were open secrets, and Junk-o had accounted for them. She ditched all her electronics, and her disguise would further obscure her identity. She rode the elevator to the top floor and accessed the roof through the fire escape. What was left was the wait.

Raven had more than one home, so it took some observing for Junk-o to ensure she had the correct one. And she saw with her own eyes that Raven went into this building.

Three in the morning. She was sure her target would be asleep already. In the worst-case scenario, things would get violent, but she was confident that a silver spoon couldn’t beat her in a fight. From her research, Raven possessed no magical items and had no fighting skills whatsoever.

She straightened her magic jacket and adjusted her magic belt. With gloves on and her garrotte secured in her pocket, she scaled downwards on the walls of the building. Her jacket allowed her to stick to any surface at will.

In no time, her descent got her to the window of Raven’s apartment. There wasn’t a lock or security bars. No one would expect an intruder on the nineteenth floor. Junk-o gently nudged the window open. She was expecting the window to be fastened shut by the handle and that she would need to circumvent the mechanism, but it was half open.

She peeked into Raven’s bedroom. The walls were painted black, compounding with the night to muddle the details of the room even more. The bed was made and empty. Junk-o lowered herself through the window, her feet onto the cold hardwood floor. Though Raven wasn’t in the room, she wanted to be thorough and check the entire apartment.

Tip-toeing towards the bedroom door, she was almost… almost there. She reached out for the handle, but she didn’t get to open it, because she got in range.

A force slammed her face-first onto the ground.

Before she could process what was happening, her jacket was sliding off her; she tried to resist, but something was pressing her against the floor. The struggle was futile; the jacket was stripped off her. She turned her head as much as her neck allowed her to, determined to at least get a glimpse of her assailant. Only saw parts of a figure, seemingly of a woman. Who was this woman? How was she so strong? How did she ambush Junk-o? There weren’t any spots to hide.

Then, the weight on her back vanished. Junk-o rolled around instantly. And in the dim lighting, courtesy of the sleepless city outside, she could discern some features of the woman.

Junk-o must have gazed upon long, deep-green hair with a couple of strands that were in a much paler shade. Maybe a confident smirk. In Junk-o’s eyes, the woman must be wearing a dark green coat, opened to reveal a top-skirt combo inside. A pair of gray eyes, glimmering with a faint pale-green bokeh, that could read Junk-o’s every thought.

Yep, she was looking at me. I’d been watching her through my quasi-omniscience since Raven’s trip to Pestilence’s house, and I knew the visit would put pressure on her to rush the assassination job. She couldn’t stand by when someone was getting bullied. In this case, the alleged victim was Pestilence, and the bully was Raven. After Raven left, Pestilence must have added fuel to the flames of Junk-o’s justice, egging her on.

I almost wanted to thank Pestilence for helping me speed up the resolution.

“Who are you?” Junk-o asked. I wondered if there was any universe where she would get an answer from a stranger who had just attacked her.

I didn’t answer her. The magic coat swayed in my hand, taunting her.

The jacket robbery earned me the label of a foe. Junk-o reached her hand towards me, and her belt activated. Grass blades shot out from her fingers, whistling through the air. I dodged the projectile by floating to the side.

I let out a villainous laugh. “Nothing you do will ever be enough!”

Junk-o's arm chased me, but I was always one step ahead, reading her intentions before she manifested them through motions. The grass nails pinned onto the wall; surely Raven would appreciate her cleaning duty tomorrow.

I floated up to the ceiling while kicking the walls. All so it would look to Junk-o as if I was borrowing the coat's power to walk up. It was part of the ploy. I didn't really need the coat.

The volley of grass stabbed into the surface a step behind me, marking my trail as I breezed my way through the three-dimensional space.

“Aren't you so weak and pathetic? Are you gonna cry, Junk-o? Are you?”

The insults did more damage to her than her magic belt did to me. Her heart rate rising, her amygdala firing, thoughts blurring, blood pulsing.

True to the idiom that describes anger, she saw only red. Almost literally. Her only goal was to murder me. Whatever the cost.

The stage was set. I looped to the ceiling, sprinting upside down to the window, while the stream of grass spikes pursued me.

Reaching the window, I flicked open the curtains and leaped out. With my farewell act, a scornful shout, “You can't hit me! So weak!”

Once out of the apartment, I drifted downwards fast enough to evade another round of spikes, but slow enough to show her that I wouldn't fall to my death.

What happened next was hardly a revelation. Junk-o didn't even have to think about her next move; her body lunged on its own. She poked her head and arm out to search for any trace of me. No me below her. Only a callous drop to the street, where the voyeuristic digital vultures were waiting for any movements to capture, to consume and assimilate into their reserve of data.

Only one possibility left. Up.

Junk-o turned her head and arm to the sky, twisting her body into an awkward pose. Sure enough, I was above her, but my feet weren't attached to the building. I was floating.

With my free hand, I dragged Junk-o by her outstretched arm, pulling her whole body out through the window. I was just close enough to my anchor to have barely enough strength to do this. All my planning, the deceptions and manipulation, was for this moment.

Junk-o chuckled because her fingers were pointed at my torso. There was no way I could avoid the new wave of grass nails she shot out. But I didn't have to pretend anymore. I didn't have to pretend that she ever had a chance.

The projectiles passed through me, leaving me unharmed. Junk-o struggled to process the sight before her, and she had no more time to, as in the next second, she plummeted through the open air.

My quasi-omniscience told me there wasn’t any person or machine watching me. No one was passing by on the pavement below. This would be treated as an accident or a suicide. Maybe a case of misusing magic items.

As Junk-o hit the concrete, I set the magic coat loose, up to the wind to carry it wherever, just not here, so no suspicion would be cast on Raven, especially if I had the cooperation of Pestilence.

I should proceed to the next step. I should.

But I was descending, turning invisible so no one, at least no living person, could see me. My movements were strange, as if I were sucked into Junk-o's death. I should have absolute control over my spirit body, so I must have a reason to do that.

I must have something to say to Junk-o.

She was standing there, looking at her splattered corpse. Confused. They were always confused. And soon, she noticed me. That reengaged her focus, as I was an object worthy of her attention.

“You,” she said with a neutral tone. Ghosts had no capacity to feel anything. They were only echoes of information, a final firework explosion before everything dispersed into dust.

“Why did you stop me? I could have punished that bully.” That sounded like a roundabout way of begging for her life.

“And then what?” I replied only with simple words. It was always the simple words that would crush them.

In the silence that followed, somewhere out there, a dozen more people fell to their deaths. I held my attention on Junk-o, because only her death mattered, a proof that lives could be spared through action. She died so that Raven could live.

Still, something was missing. Her answer. I was curious about her answer, but her spirit disintegrated before it came. Regret burst out from her as if she were a sad piñata, the kind with long-standing scars on arms and a dead frown.

Remember when I said spirits couldn't feel anything?

I lied. They would usually suffer one last time before surrendering to the eternal void.