It's more attention than he wants.

Tricia/Danielle: "Good day, Mr. Newman. I request your consent to perform another battery of tests, this time with no sexual misconduct or sexual experimentation whatsoever. Please confirm. This message is prime-encrypted, such that only the intended reader can perceive it."

It was almost a carbon copy of her last request, and it was difficult to not read it as being a bit bossy-

Tricia/Danielle: "Addendum: while I have your attention: I have been told you are dating Vanessa Hawthorne, a sexually active freshman here at Ashcroft with a history of being unfaithful to her lovers and treating them poorly. I did not include this information to influence your decision-making. This is, of course, acceptable for my experiments. It would be ridiculous for me to be bitter or jealous over this revelation mere days after we exchanged certain irreparable quantities of ourselves in my inner-sanctuary. I certainly do not feel betrayed. There would be neither logic nor gain to resenting your actions, so I wanted to assure you that I am not, and then that I do not. Thank you. This message is prime-encrypted, such that only the intended reader can perceive it."

That... seemed kind of hard to believe-

Vanessa: "omfg Frank's team is such an asshole! I heard what happened, and im so sorry! I really didn't mean for that to happen, but I promise to make it up when u cum over ;)"

John typed furiously at that.

John: "We broke things off pretty cleanly, I thought! Why are you doing this? Just go back to the way you were!"

Vanessa: "uhhhhhhhh no? Besides I worked really hard on making it up 2 u and helping u! But it's a surprise. Plzzzz? Don't make me beg, Newman."

Despite the whole barrage being texts, the last one seemed... menacing, somehow. John was ready to retort again when she added:

Vanessa: "not after what you did 2 me"

John winced as if prodded.

John: "Fine, but forget the Caddy. Call me from your study. Be alone. I'll meet you there."

Vanessa: "omgomgomg are you gonna like do the thing again? I mean the thing, not THAT thing you perv, tho thats ok too, u'll see ;) I will SUPER be good, promise <3"

"What the fuck is with her-?" His phone vibrated before he could even get it into his pocket. Jesus, who else has my number?! I swear to God if this is Moira, or if somehow the waitress at-

Unknown Number: "Your name is John Newman. You laced a bunch of girl's underwear at school with fairy dust. You are a summoner. You're wearing a very special ring and belt. You've opened barriers in the art room. Meet me at the infirmary during lunch."

John stood rigid as he read the message, all the frustrated mirth leaving his body as he read the words. The number wasn't local, but it also shifted and changed in a style similar to that of Tricia's texts. Another message came before he could even consider the possible sender.

Unknown Number: "Come alone, and without your familiars. We will know. Do this before the second lunch bell, or we will find a buyer for her whereabouts."

An image attachment followed, and his veins filled with ice. There, sitting alone in a chemistry lab and staring at her phone, was Tricia, photographed unawares of whoever now threatened her.

Unknown Number: "Warning her or any authority will only get the Gorbachev vanished. We are watching you, and your phone. Play by our rules, and you might get to see the Hawthorne girl tonight."

The staircase felt cold, even drafty, as John stared numbly at his phone, at this threatening chain here in this sea of youthful exuberance that he once enjoyed. "N... no way..." John looked around rapidly, his paranoia peaking as a gaggle of students came up the stairs. None looked his way. His eyes strained, checking their data, looking for some kind of clue. None were there to be found. He was alone with civilians... perhaps. Could they really see him? Was it his phone? He stuffed his phone in his inventory; without a signal in stasis, at least that worry could go away. Was it a bluff? He had only just made the plans with Vanessa by phone, so at the very least they were potent hackers... or were watching him remotely in some other way. Or seeing the future? He knew nothing of the enemy or their ability... save how much they seemed to know about him. Was whoever this was really so powerful?

Calm down, John. Stay calm. The questions had come in an infuriating, despairing fury, and it took a few deep breaths to steady his vision and thoughts again. More students began to pour up the stairs, gliding past him as he stood there on the landing like passing waves. None of them could help. He had contacts, but none could be contacted without potentially putting Tricia's life in danger. He was warned that her identity was supposed to be secret... so who pieced it together? They knew about his panty escapades, so...

Wentworth: "No, the Gorbachev girl healed you... which was foolish of her, given that until now I was the only one aware of her presence."

The memory slammed into John with the full weight of its implication. This is my fault, and... and I don't have any way to fix it without probably making it worse. Like a zombie he walked towards his first class, trapped in the shock as he made his way. Could Wentworth do anything, fast and powerful as she seemed? No, the question was would she do anything, and John dismissed the notion handedly. Certainly the Brightons wouldn't act fast enough; something about that direct, overt organization told him it would be as useful as trying to bring in the actual police for something like this. John contemplated every time he screamed at a movie for the parents or family to just call the police to deal with a kidnapper, and found no humor in the irony.

I have to go to the infirmary during lunch. The conclusion was sobering. There really was no other route that didn't endanger Tricia... except, of course, endangering-

Fuck you. John exterminated the notion immediately, and the shame of even having it solidified his decision. Even if this person was bluffing about knowing if he had a summon out, he didn't see any of them helping much in a public place anyways: Fairy was the only one small and careful enough to go unnoticed, and if this was truly a threat she'd be only so much use anyways. He had just the blank slate of his lack of knowledge, and suddenly all the arrogance of being a paragon slipped away. Am I... going to have to surrender when I get there, or fight something? Am I going to lose?

No. He clenched the door handle to his first class until his knuckles turned white. That's right... I'm more than capable. I'll meet these bastards, and then I'll overcome them, same as anything else. If they really want to threaten people around me... I'll kill them. John's body shivered at the notion: ****. He didn't know if his enemies were even human, but he knew he would be alright with killing if it meant protecting someone he put in danger... right? John's body only shook more at the suddenly real notion of having to take a human life, a step above the destruction of Abyssal monsters that he wasn't sure he was ready to take. He went through the various scenarios and alternatives in his mind, trying to prepare for the unknown foe that he would face in mere hours. Whatever the case, he had to go and at least identify the threat; complying today, like with kidnappers, promised nothing tomorrow, but at least he would know the face of his enemy.

Later...

The lunch bell rang, and the Academy heaved students as they flooded the cafeteria and student parking lot to go find grub, their cliques, their perfectly normal little lives... all save a select few. One of those few was John Newman, and the infirmary door, a simple slab of wood without a window, seemed too tall to be natural to him now. He looked about; the rare student was still in the hall, proving he remained in the real world. No barrier yet... what, then? What is their plan? Braced for combat, he opened the infirmary door wide and crossed the threshold with a held breath. After a tiny, ten-foot hallway, the infirmary proper was still obfuscated by a privacy screen that made a miniature T-hallway at entry, ensuring none would see the inside of the room until they walked past it. John did so, still holding his breath, still waiting for some kind of ambush, until he finally saw the humble beds they had for their students along with all the accoutrements that came with a miniature clinic. It was impossible to know if there were any students laying in those beds, but there was the lone doctor in attendance, a auburn-haired man whose tag identified him as Dr. Gregory McElroy, who was the only visible soul in the innocuous academy nurse's office. The middle-aged coat turned to regard John with a smile, and John's eyes lowered from the awareness data to the mild-mannered technician it identified. "Hello," the doctor greeted quietly, perhaps to not wake the ailing students present. "Stomachache?"

"N-No, I... thought I was meeting someone here..."

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Well, who is this someone?"

"I... am not sure?"

The man's smile thinned, and his tone became far more terse. "I see... well the infirmary is no place for lunch, or for loitering, so unless you have a medical concern I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Ah... yeah, sorry. H-Have a nice day." Cautiously, John turned his back on the man-

You've been pulled into a trap barrier by Rurik Talon! You cannot escape until-

The rest of the message was ignored as John blinked away from where he was near the privacy screen and into the opening between the beds. Before he had even gotten this far, he saw that the tiny hallway and door had been replaced by a brick wall, and now the windows had been replaced with another solid, blank wall. Looking to where he once stood, he didn't jump a moment too soon: the good doctor clamped some kind of thick, metal collar closed around where his neck just was. Black pearls lining the ring of iron flashed a dark purple before rapidly melting into the now sealed choker, albeit with no neck trapped within it. "Fucking Hell!" The necklace shrunk out of the doctor's hands, probably to fit to a neck... or worse. Finding nothing, it shrank until it winked out of existence halfway through its journey towards the floor, leaving an unarmed, fuming "doctor". He turned to face John, his appearance rippling to reveal the real Rurik Talon: a balding, heavy-set man in an aged lab coat stained with oils and blood, eyes now obfuscated in blood-tinted goggles made from silver, and brass wiring reaching up from the nape of his shirt like veins. A host of small items and fetishes hung from gold and silver chains all across his body, some pinned to the coat or his ragged, oil-stained cargo pants, and the strange scientist-mechanic look was completed with thick black boots braced in glittering steel. He hissed at John, his mouth revealed to be entirely filled with a menagerie of multi-colored metal teeth. "You came! You actually came here instead of forcing us to get you at your house! But stupid as you were... you still knew what I was. I paid top dollar for that appearance potion, damn it, so how'd you know?!"

Rurik Talon
Level 14 Artificer
<Zenith Smugglers>
301/301hp
296/401mp
Status Effects: Blood Oil (50 rounds)
-150rp
A mage dedicated to the use of alchemy and magical inventions, Artificers are deadly when allowed to prepare.

"I had a hunch." John activated his displacement and crouched, ready to pounce or blink away from whatever the mad doc had in store. "I've been trying to imagine who would meet me here all day... and who would do it by threatening some innocent girl."

Doctor Talon laughed, and a ringing echo of metal warped the noise. "This isn't high school, kid, and that's no girl. You've really sipped the Kool-Aid those Brightons fed ya, huh? I mean, that pint-sized cunt was there too, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised..." John noticed twitches in the man's movements, and something crawling underneath his shirt. He tried to peer at him, to decipher whatever it was that he was up to, but all he could notice was a sudden sheen of blue that pulsed around the man. It vanished just as quickly, but it looked too much like John's abandoned manashield for him to think it wasn't more than a fancy visual effect.

Awareness lvl8
Awareness has reached maximum level!

Gamer Quest: A Duelist's Eye
Defeat an enemy mage without Gamer's eye!
Reward: Gamer's eye, 3,000XP

(Potential New Skill) Gamer's eye, passive/active
Gamer's eye is treated as "awareness" and "observe" for all Game purposes.
Gamer's eye, passive: Passively perceive the basic information of up to one person per 10 Wisdom at a time. Can be switched away from person identification to instead detect active barriers and their properties.
Gamer's eye, active: actively analyze a person, spell, or item to gain detailed information about it, depending on comparative level.

"I guess it took the threat of a mage to finally unlock it..."

Talon's eyebrows twitched. "You struck me as a newbie... but you know what I am, huh? Ah, but maybe that was a lucky guess? No matter. You're not leaving here 'xcept one of two ways: in irons, or not at all." John wasn't sure he could talk his way out of this one... and given the level difference and the ignorance even his quest recognized, an all-out fight seemed risky.