Skepticism Grey was tired. He was often tired, more often than he admitted to himself or others. Oh yes, reviving a brilliant Adept discipline that nobody had ever attempted to revive as far as his knowledge extended before had seemed like a good idea at the time. Yes, switching from Elemental magic to a form of magic with little information and no living practitioners had made him very interesting and a renowned figure in the magical world. Yes, yes, he did spend a lot of his time making sure that his work remained secret, whilst still being provably new. No, he did not wish to take on an apprentice.
He could have had a tape recorder playing these answers, and the journalist talking to him would not have noticed. He was too busy scribbling furiously about little details of Skepticism's appearance. A 'pallid and worry worn' expression, a 'slightly limp like gait of his walk', a 'creased suit, belying hours of wear with not much sleep'. Skepticism simply smiled and continued to repeat his answers. Anything unsatisfactory would not make it to print anyway.

"Well, the time has come for a demonstration I feel." The journalist announced rather pompously, rising to his feet and cracking his knuckles.

Skepticism sighed, and rose too.

"Okay then Mr Maher, but I warn you, my research has not yet been completed."

The journalist waved away the comment and drew a handgun from a box on the desk. How he had acquired it, Skepticism did not know. He aimed the gun precisely at Skepticism's chest and fired. Once, twice, and a third time.

The bullets hit, their force dissipating against the rippling muscles of Skepticism's torso. A slight stagger was the only show of pain that he gave as the journalist dropped the pistol into the box and applauded loudly.
"Now will you demonstrate transference?" He asked, gesturing to a stone bust that sat on the side. Skepticism walked to it, concentrated on the kinetic energy that he had built up, and tapped the bust.

For a moment, nothing happened. But, the journalist ended up jumping into the air with fear as the entire bust turned to shards of stone.

"There we go, Mr Maher. A demonstration of Kineticism. Now, may I go?" Skepticism asked, not even waiting for an answer before striding from the room.

-o-o-o-

Once he had made his way around the corner, Skepticism sighed. He reached under his shirt and brushed metal shards from the enchanted vest that lay beneath. Thanks to the brilliant work of a tailor who now thought he was a chicken due to the sheer amount of memory modification that he had undergone, Skepticism was able to absorb any forces thrown at him. That, coupled with the kineticist's ring that he had spent a large amount of money to secure, had allowed him to fake knowledge of an Adept discipline that was, by all accounts, dead.

He had tried. He really had. Honestly, he had worked for months to try and learn Kineticism. He had read all the books about the discipline, even kids books featuring protagonists who could do it, and he made lists and charts of the methods that they used. But nothing had worked. After almost two years, he had not even been able to absorb the kinetic energy from a child's bb gun. So he had changed. It was dishonest, it was wrong, it was definitely going to implode on him eventually, but he switched his discipline. Focusing instead on the same magic that those annoying Sanctuary officials, Random and Scrutinous, used. Memory blocking. He had discovered that he was extremely skilled when it came to entering a person's mind and removing memories. Soon, he had outperformed his teacher, a man who he had paid huge amounts of money to remain secretive, and, since the man's use had been outlived, he had memory blocked him. Every journalist, scientist, investigator, Sanctuary official, that had come near him had either been fooled by his devices or memory wiped so they believed that they had been. He couldn't keep the charade up forever, that was for certain. His vest was faltering, letting bits of force through, hurting and bruising him, and the media frenzy surrounding him was only picking up in intensity. In hindsight, destroying the memories of the only tailor on Earth with the enchanting abilities to produce such a vest had been a less than perfect idea. But it was too late. Much too late. So, Skepticism had one option. He had to keep faking it, until he was found out. Then, he would simply make his services available to the Sanctuary and work as a memory blocker. Not the most glamorous of jobs, but an essential public service that would possibly dull the backlash of the public.

-o-o-o-

"Skulduggery, you're late. What's happened now?" Ghastly Bespoke's tone was one of practiced boredom, a plea for more information disguised as simple small talk.
"Skepticism Grey, the Kineticist, was assassinated. Well, I say Kineticist, really he was just a particularly skilled and morally bereft memory blocker that was cheating his way to fame. Apparently, someone found out that he was behind Nicholas Cardin's breakdown, and they were none too pleased. But enough about that, lets bowl!" Came the smug reply, as Skulduggery forced his bony fingers into a bowling ball and threw it down the alley, pushing the air slightly to award himself a perfect strike.

"I'm impressed he managed to keep it up for so long though. Something like that is hard to keep secret, even with memory blocking." Ghastly pondered, mimicking Skulduggery's action but adding the slightest manifestation of water on the alley to give the ball even more slip.

Skulduggery just shrugged and forced the water to dry to steam.
"We agreed no water Ghastly! If you can't manage one game without cheating, I'll bowl you down there!" Skulduggery laughed, the space where his eyes would be almost glinting.

Ghastly chuckled and made to grab Skulduggery's head.
"You're the one with a removable skull!"