Vertin and Isaac swiftly left the suitcase which — true to its mystical nature described by the former — appeared no different from any other ordinary suitcase. If not for the fact that they had physically climbed out of it, Isaac would have never believed such a thing existed.
...But of course, he already knew about it.
Finding themselves amidst a charred forest that looked as if it had been frozen in time — the tree barks bearing dark charcoals on their branches and the ground slightly barren with ash still present from here and there — the two immediately started their plan.
"...1929 Chicago, huh? I've never been here before and certainly didn't think that my first visit would be... an espionage mission." Isaac looked around and saw the various tents being built all around the charred forest, with men in military uniforms present. "Even more so with this sight..."
Many people — looking distraught, haggard, and scared — loitered around the massive space, their downtrodden eyes gleaming with anticipation of receiving help from the local government. They varied from one after another, some looking like a tramp while some looking wealthy. Despite their socioeconomic status, though, they were all equally affected by the effects of the Storm.
In the face of an unstoppable force, none were spared — be they human or arcanist.
"What an execrable sight." He frowned, his hands tucked in his coat.
"Indeed, and it would only continue to worsen." Beside him, Vertin lowered her head, causing her hat to tilt down a bit and covering her left eye. "As the Storm Syndrome continues to progress with the gradual arrival of the Storm, more and more people would be affected and the symptom would only continue to worsen."
"Right now, they're only having hallucinations and ingesting money thinking they're food, causing various problems for their stomachs. But when the Storm arrives and reverses time once more..."
She didn't continue as she believed that he already knew the outcome.
She watched his reaction, hoping gouge out how he felt about it. After all, as an arcanist himself, she believed that he knew how badly treated they were by humans during the 20th century — leading to all sorts of twisted developments between the two, with some in both camps doing radical actions.
As for him, she wanted to know which camp he belonged to — if he was a vengeful arcanist or not, such was the case for many.
Contrary to her expectations, however, the emotion he expressed wasn't that of a schadenfreude, but rather, a wistful one — his murky dark eyes softening as if not being able to stand the injustice of the sight, yet unable to or not compelled enough to do anything about it.
Isaac, on the other hand, listened intently and didn't immediately reply, but instead took the moment to look around him — to the people gathering and seeking refuge in the midst of an impending calamity.
It was a pitiful sight, truly. To see all of them struggle to face something they cannot fathom nor fight, only deluding themselves of a salvation that they weren't aware doesn't exist.
He shook his head.
Turning his attention away from them, he looked back at her. "Let's return to our objective."
After saying that, Isaac raised his hand and nudged his monocle. Shortly after, a thin layer of fog started to appear around him, gradually spreading out further and covering more grounds.
Soon, a grayish-white fog drifted across the grassland, weaving through the various tents and people present, becoming a part of the scene yet still barely perceptible enough to not stand out. It blended naturally as it appeared.
Unlike the fog in the Lake, however, the fog Isaac conjured now were not as thick.
"Although my fog is bad for normal humans, it's still relatively safe as long as I thin it out." He explained to Vertin after successfully spreading his arcanum. "A problem only shows itself if my fog were to suddenly condense and thicken, which would subsequently cause anyone who enters them to be affected by its negative traits."
"Hm, the more I hear about your arcanum, the more it makes me curious." Vertin commented, her eyes looking at him as inquisitively as before. "I've never heard of an arcanum like yours in the Foundation's records before. Surely something like your fog wouldn't have gone unnoticed given its potential."
At her conjecture, a joyless chuckle escaped from his mouth. "Well, who knows? There could be a multitude of reasons why I didn't appear within the Foundation's records. But—"
Engrossed in their little conversation, Isaac's sentence abruptly trailed off as his face froze. He was suddenly caught off guard when his fog took notice of someone who had approached them and stood not far, looking at them with suspicious glare.
That person closed in on them, and, after scrutinizing Isaac for a brief moment, looked at Vertin.
"Ms. Vertin, may I ask who this gentleman is?"
It was Forget Me Not. A member of the Manus Vindictae.
A man that had wavy, shoulder-length dark green hair that partially covered his face, a pale complexion, and a pair of thin-framed glasses.
He sported a white ruffled dress shirt with a high collar, a black floral-patterned vest, and a matching black waist belt with silver buckles.
Overall, he looked very much refined and sophisticated — if not for the fact that his gaze was piercing and slightly suspicious. Yes, he was strikingly charismatic and suspicious.
Vertin, remaining composed, never let her true emotions be seen by him and immediately tried to play it off. She then introduced Isaac. "He's an investor who approached me regarding the potions. He said that he wanted to reserve some in advance."
As she introduced him, her eyes locked on to his for a mere moment — as if conveying a message. Having caught on to her message, Isaac, perceptive as he was, immediately followed along. Conjuring an amicable smile, he presented himself well in front of Forget Me Not.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Forget Me Not. I've heard a lot about you around my circles, and have been contemplating whether to visit The Walden these days to have a couple of drinks." He said, acting as naturally as possible. "Oh, yes, where are my manners? I'm a private jeweler and appraiser from England visiting Chicago at this time of the year."
"My name's Dwayne Dantez."
Forget Me Not's eyes glanced at Isaac, who sported himself a refined attire befitting of his claims, his eyes observing him like a hawk — sharp and piercing as if trying to find any sort of flaw. A moment later, however, a smirk appeared on his face.
"I see, I'm touched by your sentiments, Mr. Dantez. But regardless, you must know that the potions have yet to be refined; and therefore, you will have to wait like everybody else."
Isaac nodded slightly. "I do, don't I? But what if I slide in some... form of compassion for this cause of yours in the form of a donation?"
His meaning was clear; he wanted to pay for the reservation.
Forget Me Not raised his hand to adjust his thin-framed glasses. His eyes then landed on Isaac for a few brief moments, this time with a hint of disdain and ridicule. However, he hid that behind a façade. "Haha, money does solve everything, doesn't it? A habit everyone shares in this pernicious era and society. Very well, Mr. Dantez. As soon as the first batch of potions are refined, you can be rest assured that your name would be among the first on the list."
"Thank you, I'm glad we've formed a proper communication." Isaac smiled, showing the joy of befitting of someone who had bribed countless times before.
Watching their whole interaction, Vertin silently observed and absorbed as much information as she could regarding the two men.
Her new information of Isaac's surprising talent in acting was a new addition to her profile of him, thus gaining more insight into his character. Likewise, the profile of Forget Me Not in her mind stayed consistent — someone who loathed the current detrimental practices of today's society.
Isaac then turned to Vertin. "Well, that's that. Thanks for the conversation, Ms. Vertin. Since I've already talked to Mr. Forget Me Not, I'll be heading on my way to the white zone now."
The white zone was where the wealthy stayed, with their tents present and personnel guarding against tramps and vendors.
He then turned to Forget Me Not. "You too, dear sir. Please have a good day and may this operation of yours be a success."
"Thank you, Mr. Dantez." Forget Me Not once more nudged his thin-framed glasses and nodded slightly, leaving only an enigmatic sentence behind. "Please do enjoy the peace too."
Having received his approval, Isaac immediately left, intending to escape and fulfill his part of the plan. After walking off a bit far, he paused, looked back, and saw that Forget Me Not and Vertin were together along with a man in a military uniform having a heated discussion.
Looking at the scene from afar, he lingered for a bit before muttering to himself in a low, incomprehensible voice — impossible for others to hear.
"Everything's going according to the story..."