Slayer Anderson
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Losing It
🕑 Added 2021-01-21 10:17:27 +0000 UTC“-but I won. It's over!” I argued in disbelief.
“I'm not really sure how to react when someone claims they've 'won' at life.” The beingreplied absently.
I took a deep breath to keep myself from getting angry. “You told me to do a Worm-verse run, right?”
“That sounds correct,” it replied.
“You set an annoyingly large number of conditions and restrictions on what I could and could not take,” I continued slowly.
“Nix 'annoyingly' for 'amusingly' and you've got the gist of it.” It nodded.
“Same conditions as usual: survive, make sure Scion is neutralized, and make sure the Endbringers aren't an issue.” I stated.
It raised an... appendage to waggle at me. “Now, see, thereis where the disconnect is, I think. If Irecall correctly-and trust me, I do-the 'win condition' for the CYOA is to survive for ten years.”
I blinked, momentarily taken aback as I tried to remember the exact text of a document I'd read nearly a year ago.
“Furthermore,” it continued, its voices oozing pleasure with each utterance, “that specific rule only applies to versions one through three.” It paused here. “Mostof those versions, anyway. The creators of the documents made it so easy to misrepresent them... but, I believe I've been most generouseven by the 'restrictive' terms of our initial agreement. I'm actually curious what you have to complain about.”
It wasn't a question, but I decided to do my best to answer it anyway.
“How about a lack of lack of ways to 'amuse you,'” I quoted our original conversation, and agreement desperately. “Scion is dead, the Endbringers are kaput-”
“The Slaughterhouse Nine still exist,” it... shrugged passively.
“I'd only give it a year, now that Cauldron don't have the golden idiot to obsess over, before Contessa fixes that problem. The Blasphemies, Nilbog, and Ash Beast too, for that matter.” I stated firmly. “Hell, I alreadytook care of Echidna and all that took was a phone call.”
“That was rather ruthless of you; siccing Accord on Noelle and Krouse like that. You do know he killed the rest of the team too, just to be sure?” It asked, absently curious.
I sighed, shaking my head. “They got a shit deal on life. If Pact really is part of a shared universe, hopefully their souls will have better luck next time around or whatever.”
“You don't care that you were complicit in the deaths of a group of relatively innocent individuals?” It pressed.
“'Relatively,'” I emphasized with a snort. “We could go round and round on the moral arguments of this specific decision, but I think we bothknow how pointless that is. Bluntly, though: no, it doesn't bother me. They got a shit deal in life, just like uncountable quadrillions of humans across the multiverse, local or otherwise, do every second. Why should the Travellers' deaths bother me any more than a group of starving children in Africa?”
“I'd think it would matter to you that you played a conscious role in their deaths as opposed to those hypothetical children,” it replied.
“A conscious, intentional decision as opposed to a thoughtless accidental one?” I asked. “Which is supposed to bother me more? The unpaid labor in an Asian sweatshop making my t-shirts that starves people to death or my premeditated complicity to the murder of a group of desperate, stupid kids that were responsible for over a dozen deaths?”
“Now, see!” It swarmed excitedly, moving about oddly and energetically. “That! That's interesting! That kind of ruthless, amoral, pragmatic rationalization! I want to see more of that!”
I sighed and pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes, rubbing circles and triggering little flashes of false-light. “...and then what, in ten years you'll let me go home?”
“Maybe,” it shrugged-jiggled-something. “Maybe you're already home. Maybe you're a clone or a divergent temporal analogue. Maybe you never left in the first place and this is all a coma-dream after a nasty car accident.”
I groaned aloud, too exhausted by the emotional whiplash of the last few minutes to care. “So, let me get this straight, you're going to send me back to dick around on Earth Bet, just like that? On the grounds that I'll do something to further amuse you. Make some desperate ploy or genius tactical gambit that's so out of the box it gets a chuckle?”
“Pretty much the plan,” it confirmed.
“Against what?” I asked bluntly, all pretense of anger and irritation gone. “I doremember the part of our bargain where youwouldn't interfere, you know? I might have been stupid enough not to finalize a deadline, but that clause is still pretty iron-clad.”
It twisted in thought, coiling and bunching in odd places.
“You haven't touched the Hebert girl, or the Dallons,” it wheedled.
“I don't intend to,” I replied. “I'm done. I saved the world, twice-overif you count Scion and the Endbringers separately. Nearly two-dozenif you count each Endbringer that didn't get awoken. Unknown millions if you count each instance of Earth Scion would have eventually melted into ash.”
“Kephri-” it began.
I held up a hand. “Kephri was my backup plan. One I didn't need and one that likely won't come to fruition without the Endbringers and Cauldron having different priorities. If I go back to Earth Bet, I'm going to retire. Peacefully, quietly. On a nice little lake, without fish, in bumfuck Montana and spend my day fishing. See if Jack O'Neil's idea is all it's cracked up to be.”
There was a twist, and it spoke again, more focused. “You realize you've given me nomotivation, in that case, to return you to your home world?”
“A being as intelligent as you signing a contract with a regular human with a loophole like that can't be called anything other than deceptive,” I reasoned grimly. “Deceptive bargaining means the contract itself is in bad faith. That means, in turn, I have no guarantee you'll deliver on anything. Doing nothing for the rest of my life while living it in relative comfort seems like a small price to pay to spite something as vast and 'omnipotent' as you.”
There was a long, still, silence.
Then it began to... not chuckle, exactly, but make a noise I remembered corresponded with amusement. “One percent of one percent of one percent. It's one thing to see a possible timeline where you manage these impossible things, where an antbloats its own ego to the point it believes it can mouth off to a god, but to experience it... ah such sublime wonder there is in your species' self-absorbed madness. It gives me chills, honestly.”
I rolled my eyes. “If you're done soiling your cosmic undies with whatever passes for reproductive fluid amongst your dimension of beings, I'd prefer it if you just killed me instead of making me experience some kind of fetishized NTR of my possible alternate timelines.”
A blistering round of 'laughter' was my only response for a good, long while.
Finally, as it regained its senses, it responded. “Okay little human, I think you've earned the opportunity to furnish a little more amusement for me. So, how about we skip some of the 'bullshit' as your people say, and I present you with a few possible agreements you may have signed in the coming hours?”
I sighed and sat down at the table which had just appeared. “Just out of idle curiosity, I'm curious if it was the torture porn I just went through or the fact that I managed pass your impossible-fucking test that changed your mind?”
“Can't it be a bit of both?” It asked. “While there's no denying your accomplishments in a perks-only run were impressive, there's also no substitute for amusement.”
I shook my head and decided to stop asking those kinds of questions.
It would, doubtless, only make my headache worse.
Name Iori Rowan-Sato
1.0
“Taylor Hebert, right?”
The girl next to me tensed and shot me a quick look before flicking her eyes to the area immediately behind me, then the area behind herself.
“Yeah...” She nodded cautiously, still checking our surroundings.
“I'm not here to cause you trouble.” I sighed as I sat on the cold bench, a gust of late November wind spinning trash up in the street. “I'm actually here to give you answers. If you'd like them at least.”
Taylor frowned and, I guess I could see what she meant in her internal dialogue about her mouth being 'too wide,' but... I suppose its only relevant as a flaw if you, or someone else, is trying to pick apart a person's imperfections for maximum insult.
“Do I know you?” She asked, probably in lieu of knowing how to respond to my previous declaration. “Do you go to Winslow?” Idly, I noted on hand sliding towards a keychain with a small black cylinder on it.
I snorted, though my momentary smile faded as I contemplated my reply. “I guess I've done some questionable things in the past, but I like to think I never did anything bad enough for that.”
The corner of Taylor's mouth twitched as she fought it down.
“So... who are you then?” She asked, a challenge in her eyes.
“Iori.” I replied shortly. “It's not a name that gets much use, but it's as close to honest as I can do, I think.”
“...and you're talking to me, why? You said something about answers?” She pressed, eyeing me again.
I sighed and checked my watch, even though I didn't really need to. “We've got... ten minutes before the next bus, right? I guess that's enough time to hit the high notes. Then, if you want the full explanation... well, I can give you my number if you like.”
Taylor scowled at me. “You know I'm fifteen, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “And I'm seventeen, but that isn't what I meant.” I paused and took a deep breath. “So... you've read Harry Potter, right?”
Taylor blinked, looking nonplussed.
“Work with me here. Worst case scenario, you spend ten minutes getting talked at by some loony.” My entreaty, if anything, caused her to frown deeper.
I sat for a long moment, waiting for her to respond, when she eventually sighed and nodded.
“Okay, so, book three.” I started.
“Prisoner of Azkaban,” she nodded again.
“At the end,” I stated leadingly, “Harry and Hermione experience a classic literary example of a stable time loop.” I moved my hands to gesture and I saw the spark of interest ignite in Taylor eyes, likely despite her best efforts. “Basically, even if they wanted to, they couldn't break out of it. So, what if Harry or Hermione could?”
“Do something different?” Taylor asked to confirm. I nodded. She frowned. “I guess they'd catch Pettigrew and clear Sirius' name then, wouldn't they?”
“Would they?” I asked and shrugged when her brow furrowed. “I mean, presuming that they understand enough to go off the rails, to diverge from what is 'supposed' to happen... well, even though Pettigrew gets away, they save Sirius and Buckbeak, right? So would you risk it? Trying to catch Pettigrew by endangering Sirius?”
Taylor scowled, looking skyward as she contemplated.
“There's more to it than that, though,” I said. “Knowing what you do, about how the story ends, would you endanger Voldemort's defeat by changing things with Sirius and Pettigrew? You have a guaranteed win.”
Taylor's scowl got sharper. “I guess... it would depend.”
“On what?” I asked curiously.
Taylor shrugged, a slight edge of frustration in the motion. “You're not just talking about book three. You're talking about the whole series. If I get to choose, why don't I have Harry or Hermione do something else earlier than that. I mean, you're saying that they'd know the repercussions of their actions in advance, when they didn't realize they were in a time loop until Harry was fighting off the Dementors, I think?”
My lips twitched into a smile. “Alright then, so if you had free reign to 'fix' the story, how would you start?”
Taylor snorted, “I'd probably show up at Tom Riddle's orphanage and shoot him. Or reveal him as the Heir of Slytherin when he was a teenager? I'd take him out before he got powerful.”
I nodded slowly. “So, what if you showed up too late to do that?” She looked at me oddly. “Let's say... you show up a month before Harry's parents are going to die. Voldemort is at the height of his power. You're a powerful magic-user, you've got resources, but you're still no match for Voldemort one-on-one. What do you do?”
Taylor sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I don't know! Look, is there a point to all this?”
I stared back at her green eyes, chewing on the thought for a while. “Do you know what a trigger event is?”
She blinked at me again, thrown by another apparent non-sequitur. “That's... when someone gets powers, right?” Then her eyes narrowed and she stared at me more closely, her feet shifting back a half-inch.
“A trigger event is the worst day of your life,” I explained. Taylor startled. “It's the day when things become too much. That sort of thing varies from person to person. Some people are more fragile than others. Maybe a sudden life-or-death situation will do it, or maybe, just maybe, they need their life to slowly collapse around them.” I fixed her with my cool blue gaze.
“A mother dies in a car crash,” her eyes widened and she gasped.
“A best friend betrays them,” she took a step back.
“A father falls apart and can't be there for them,” I continued, and she was shaking.
“Everyauthority they'd ever been told to trust turning their back on them,” I concluded, and Taylor swallowed as her eyes glistened with unspent tears.
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“So here's my question, Taylor Annette Hebert,” I stated lowly as I heard the squealing of tires in the distance. “If you knew someone was going to save the world, if you knew they were going to sufferthrough a nightmare of pain and torment... Would you place the value of that one person's happiness over the lives of the rest of humanity? Or would you merely guarantee that you could mitigate the worst of it once you were absolutely sure Voldemort was dead and his horcruxes were destroyed?”
Danny Hebert pulled up to curb in a cloud of vaporized rubber and grinding breaks. “Taylor! Get in!”
“Dad?!” Taylor's mouth dropped in surprise as her head swiveled between me and him.
“It was nice meeting you, Taylor,” I smiled and slid my hand out from behind my leg, pressing it into her hands along with the small card. “Thanks for letting me see your mom's flute. You take care of a nice instrument like that, you hear?”
Taylor's wide eyes glistened as she looked at the pristine flute I'd handed her, and seemed she was about to grab at me until Danny's call came again.
I winked as she left.
I took a deep breath and turned my mind to other things. More important things. Things which would, ultimately, decide the fate of-
“Maybe I'll just order pizza tonight.”
-or maybe I was just hungry.
2.0
I yawned and picked up my phone, hitting one of the speed-dials and instantly wondering why I still referred to them as such. Sometimes I really showed my age.
“Who is this and how did you get this number?”
“Good morning to you too, Director Piggot.” I responded dryly as I kicked the corpse in front of me off its chair and onto the floor.
“I'm having this call traced, so use the little time you have left wisely before the PRT officers arrive at your doorstep.”
I sighed. “Director, you're free to do with your men as you please, of course, but even if you send them to wherever your system pinpoints this call's location. They won't find me there. Besides, this is as much a courtesy call as anything else. I even waited for a hole in your schedule instead of interrupting a meeting.”
There was a short moment of silence on the other end of the line. “You still haven't answered my questions. Who are you and how did you get this number?”
“For the sake of expedience: My name is Kilroy and your direct personal office line was in the files of one Thomas Calvert, recently deceased. I felt that notifying you would be more efficient than his next of kin.”
Another slight pause. “...you understand the implications which your previous statement bears?”
“If you're referring to the implication that I was responsible for Mr. Calvert's untimely demise, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint. It was a simple accident. You must understand how much stress he was under. Why, the amount of time he spent with his muscles coiled under tension, ready to strike at the earliest sign of your weakness like some kind of serpent...” I paused for a moment to let it sink in. “I'm also calling to let you know that I'll be taking over Mr. Calvert's business interests, such as they were. It seems he'd given a close relative some rather bad signing terms, if you know what I mean?”
“I believe I understand where you're coming from, yes. Still, the fact that you're assuming control of his 'assets' runs counter to a great deal of intelligence my organization has accrued regarding you. Would you care to shed light on the reasoning behind such a decision?”
I eased myself further into the chair and sighed. “Inasmuch as I care to explain myself at all, I think my previous actions speak for themselves quite plainly. I've accomplished quite a great deal and wish to rest on my laurels for a bit. The Dragonslayers, Nilbog, the Fallen, the Blasphemies, Gesellschaft, Ash Beast, the Slaughterhouse-”
“-with the exception of Bonesaw,” the Director pointed out. “Am I to take it she will be joining you in your 'retirement.'”
“Indeed,” I stated, not bothering to hide the fact. “There's also the matter of your superiors' little experiment here in Brockton Bay. As I'm in the habit of tidying up their leftover toys, I thought I'd seize upon a chance to resolve multiple issues simultaneously. You can have Battery or Triumph-” I blinked at a flash of insight, something which was becoming more common and understandable as time wore on. “-or Gallant, for that matter, contact the power-brokers, pardon the pun, behind your organization and inform them I'll be 'taking over' in Coil's place, as it were.”
This time the silence was much longer, and more absolute. When she spoke next, her words were carefully chosen and entirely neutral. “It is only by virtue of the services you've rendered this nation and the world at large, Kilroy, that I'm not sending a strike team to search Coil's territory building-by-building for those accusations.”
I hummed, an unimpressed sound. “If we're resorting to threats, director, then I won't mince words. Before the Endbringers ceased attacking, the United States was in a slow downward spiral towards the likes of South American countries, or perhaps even African nations. As the Endbringers proved themselves rather unstoppable, would it not behoove the powers-that-be to determine whether or not America and the greater part of civilization could peacefully and stably transition to parahuman rule?”
I listened to the sounds of insidious thoughts circulating.
“I won't waste either of our time in reciting the ample evidence, though. I believe I've given you far more than enough to think about for today.” I perked up. “Oh, and don't be surprised if the ABB, Merchants, or the E88 take a sudden downturn in the next few weeks. For the sake of the city, though, I will try to keep it to a dull roar and take prisoners whenever possible.”
“You can't possibly expect the PRT and Protectorate to stand idly by while you monopolize Brockton Bay's underworld.” Piggot practically growled.
“Quite the contrary.” I replied, affecting an air of indifference. “I expect the Chief Director herself to order you, or your replacement, to do so. After all, I'm the one who killed Scion and saved the world, and they'll want me in reserve if another one of them ever shows their ugly heads. Brockton Bay is merely my very low price for cooperation in the event that comes to fruition. You should be grateful I'm content with the underworld, though. Mr. Calvert's plan involved publicly discrediting you and assuming control over both the illegal and legal apparatuses for rule. I'll enjoy the game enough to give you a fair fight.”
I made to end the call, but hesitated. “And by the way, if a replacement isappointed in your stead, I will torture Tagg to death on national television if he's given the job. Keep that maniac out of my city.”
With that, I hung up before she could reply.
I kicked my feet up and stared at the ceiling as I reclined, pondering my next move. In lieu of anything else to do, I tapped the intercom and immediately winced at the smack of flesh and wet roar of a monstrous noise which swept through.
I groaned aloud. “Riley, sweetie, is that a meat-dragon I hear?”
“Maa~aaybe?” The saccharine-sweet voice replied after the deafening cacophony subsided. “You did say I could do whatever I wanted with the mercenaries and Mr. Jack never let me have one!”
“It's positively horrifying, Riley.” I face-palmed. “Right, sure... just, if you ever want to take it outside, it'll need to be wearing something. If you need more material, we'll see about it, but you need to put scales or something on it, okay?”
“Yay! You're the best onii-chan!”
I twitched, then shook my head. That wasn't the hill I wanted to die on. “Alright then. I'm done with my first business call, but I need to make a few more. Are you okay to amuse yourself without leaving the base for another couple of hours?”
“Yep! I've got lots I can do with the spare parts I still have left over! And I can help Uncle Blasto get set up too!” Riley chirped back.
“That sounds great Riley. Remember to try not to freak him out too much, okay?” I entreated, mainly because Blasto had been generally a good sport about being recruited, all things considered. I'd still had to give him a nudge or two, but between the name I'd made and the options he had on the table...
I ended the chat with the murderous munchkin and turned towards the corner, where a dead man stood. “Grab the body and the head. Throw them out a block away from a police station and come back.”
The emotionless faux-face which covered the featureless puppet beneath nodded at me, reaching down to grab the cold body and severed head before dragging them out.
The door hadn't even closed behind him before a dark-haired beauty with a streak of red in her hair leaned into the doorway. “Hey there, big man.”
“What do you want, Cherie?” My question carried none of the lust or desire I was sure she was still hoping for, even after the last month. Still, beneath the disappointment, I could feel a surge of desire and interest...
I suppose when you're the woman who can have anyone, a neglect fetish is probably the next logical step.
“Have you got the expense accounts ready yet? If we're setting up shop here, I want to rebuild my closet.” She entreated as she sauntered temptingly over to me.
I sighed and reached into the leather greatcoat, pulling out a leather wallet before selecting one of the cards and holding it between two fingers. Cherie reached and I pulled it away, fixing her with a look. “It gets charged with 100K every month. You use more than that, you're shit out of luck.”
She frowned, a spark of irritation entering her playful facade. “I don't know exactly how much you've got, but it's way more than that. Daddy alone was worth a few mill.”
“And I have other priorities beyond keeping you in the lap of luxury.” I stated bluntly, extending the card again and allowing her to take it. “You're powerful and valuable, Cherie, but there are limits. If something comes up and I need you to do something, I'll pay any unusual expenses. By the same token, though, I'll deduct money if I need to clean up any messes you cause.”
Cherie frowned more fully. “You know, the fact that you killed my father doesn't mean you get the job now.”
“These are the rules while you're working for me. If you think you can get a better deal, you're welcome to see your own way.” I held open my hand invitingly..
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