The news communicated my message to the police, who secured the suspects I apprehended, using a blindfold and noise canceling headphones to impede the senses required for any efficient use of their powers. Understanding that transporting them by police car would be too risky, they transported the two criminals on horseback. But none of that mattered to me now.
I asked the person on the other end of the text message who they were, and they confessed, “I am Madison. We go to the same homeroom together.”
I thought I recognized that name, and the sender confirmed my suspicions when they gave a follow up text, “We go to the same homeroom class.”
She was a rich kid who was spoiled sweet by her parents. We had talked a little, and she didn’t live anywhere near me, so I had no clue how she might have figured out that I was the Lolita Princess.
I tried to play it off and texted, “What are you talking about?”
She sent a video file and said, “Can I come over tomorrow to talk?”
My heart skipped a beat, and I opened the file. To my horror, the file was a night vision video of me exiting my window as the Lolita Princess.
At this moment, I was thankful that the 36th Amendment struck the word “unreasonable” from the 4th Amendment.
When the video finished playing, the file seemed to destroy itself through encryption. Even at our time, Quantum Computers never replaced traditional transistor computers. They were simply too unreliable to do so, and there had been no success in finding an error correction strategy that could resolve the issues which had always plagued them.
Much to my relief, it seemed Madison knew this, as the program she used generated a quantum key to scramble a file, then exploit decoherence to irrevocably destroy the key. Rendering recovery impossible by technological or cryptographic means.
I texted her back, “I’m willing to talk but idk if your mom will let you come over, given the situation.”
She texted back, “That won’t be a problem. She has already agreed to let me stay the night if you father would allow it. Which he did.”
This surprised me. “How on earth did you manage that?” I asked.
She revealed, “Apparently, our parents know each other. Their companies have done business collabs with each other.”
This was news to me. There’s a lot about my father and his relationships that I don’t know, but in fairness to him, there was no reason this would have ever come up in conversation.
I texted back to her, “Sure. We can talk tomorrow.”
Madison texted me, “Sleep well. I will be over tomorrow at noon.”
Despite her seemingly beneficial disposition in all this, I could feel my heart racing.
When I finally fell asleep, I suffered through a nightmare. As the Lolita Princess, I recalled the smell of burning flesh, the feeling of skin sliding off bodies as I gripped them, the bodies so mangled that no-one could tell where one man began and another ended, and other horrors only comprehensible to those who experience them.
During this hellish cacophony of despairing cries, putrid odors, and soul-crushing sights, I heard a voice gently call out, “Steel yourself!”
Something within me told me to trust the voice, so as I rummaged through the rubble, I tried to remember my breathing, and after much effort to calm down, everything became unnaturally still. Everything came to such silence that even the chirping of birds, the crawling of insects, the breeze, or the heartbeats of mice that were audible to my superhuman ears ceased.
My heart skipped a beat as I realized that something was off. As I looked about, I noticed that there was no one here. Even my penetrative clairvoyance could not find so much as a nanobacterium among this rubble. Something that I knew was impossible, and was a clear sign that, despite its appearances, I was no longer on Earth. That’s when I the world around me, rippling like images filtered through disturbed surface water, distorted then disappeared before me.
I suddenly found myself before a congregation of ghosts. Their identities concealed by a rippling shadow-like medium distorting their images and voices.
Below me was a reflective floor obscured by a white mist. Looking into the reflection, I noticed I was now in my true form as opposed to my superpowered alter ego. Somehow, I had transformed back without noticing it.
Above me was a nighttime sky unfamiliar to me, and around me was a seemingly endless expanse.
The leader of these apparitions, a bodybuilder dressed as a strongman standing 6 ft 3 in, 235 lb, introduced himself. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Trueman. My name is [Chōjin].”
As this all happened, I continued to be subject to that cognitive block that prevented me from understanding that I was in a dream. I thought it strange that something obscured the clearly spoken behind a language I could not understand. Though the matter of my location and how I got here was a more pressing matter.
I asked them, “Where am I?”
One spirit answered, “We are in your domain.”
I responded incredulously, “Where is that now?”
He explained, “That’s difficult to explain… It’s not in your world or ours, but it belongs to you, which is how you summoned us here.”
I asked, “I summoned you here?”
There was an almost awkward pause before the ghosts talked among each other, confused by my inquiry.
I clarified, “I don’t remember doing anything of the sort… That’s not a power that I have.”
Another of the apparitions explained, “You are mistaken. You did it sometime ago. Your subconscious reached out to us in a time of extreme distress, but before we could contact you, another intercepted and routed us.”
I asked, “Someone routed you? Who? And who are you people?”
Another spirit, with power drawn from six others, explained, “To answer your first question, I believe you’ve already met them. She goes by many names, but she probably introduced herself as Worldbuilder or the Author.”
I remembered that strangely ethereal dream after that horrible day.
I confessed, “I dreamed about someone named that…”
They could tell that I knew there was something supernatural about that dream. The appearance of the All-Slayer in the waking world was more than sufficient evidence of that.
These spirits seemed to key into this thought and introduced themselves sequentially-
The first to introduce themselves appeared to be a 6 ft 6 in (198 cm) tall, 640 lbs (290.3 kg), body builder wearing a cape, with wings where his ears should be, and a weapon like a mallet. “You are aware of the eldritch nature of our foe. So, let me introduce myself. I am [Raijin Ōteishin].”
A 9 m (29 ft) humanoid robot with a rather rectangular segmentation, introduced himself, “I am [Gyōtenjū].”
“I am [Taikū Chōjin].” announced a loincloth clad bodybuilder standing 6 ft 2 in (188 cm) tall and weighing 240 lbs (109 kgs), with an impressive sword sheathed at his back.
Another humanoid, with a cranial crest like that of a defleshed gorilla’s skull. He stood 40 meters (131 feet) tall and weighed 38,580 US tons (35,000 metric tons). His mouth did not move as he spoke. “I am [Chōjinryoku Haō].”
Uniquely, within this specter were two fundamentally distinct wills and natures nested within the same person.
A 6 ft (183 cm), 175 lbs (80 kg) humanoid male introduced themselves, “I am [Muteki Shōkyō].”
An athletic 5 ft 5 in (166 cm) young man with eight ghosts emanating from him. He introduced himself, “I am [Hokyū].”
Next was a childlike spirit, standing only 2ft 3in (68.58) with what appeared to be a rabbit ear-like bow on her head. She had long, flowing hair and the voice of a young girl. “I am [Kaka],” she said.
Next was a 5 ft 9 in (175.26 cm) tall woman, with an hourglass figure, and a form fitting uniform, although her hair was wavy with an ahoge protruding from the left side of her head arching towards the right side. “I am [Gamyeon Meikoku],” she said.
Finally, there was a 152 cm tall young woman with a gracile build in 3 cm heels, a microskirt, and hair tied into two buns with long tails. At her back were two massive wings at the shoulder and two smaller wings at the hips. She introduced herself as, “I am [Shō‘usagi].”
Shō‘usagi reintroduced their leader with, “And you have already met the Chōjin.”
I introduced myself in kind, “People have been calling me the Lolita Princess. This meeting is strange, so let’s cut to the chase. Assuming I did call out to you, what are your intentions for meeting with me? And what is this Worldbuilder?”
Raijin Ōteishin explained, “The Worldbuilder is a false God who seeks to cast a spell over all reality: to deconstruct reality and create a hyperreality replacement in their own image which they can eternally preserve.”
I asked him, “So, she’s a Hermetic god?“
Gyōtenjū expanded on this, “We do not know why, but this Worldbuilder is uniquely fixated on you.”
I asked him, “Any reason?”
Muteki Shōkyō answered for them, “It’s classified.”
This struck me as strange, but none of the other spirits spoke up.
I asked them, “What? Are you attempting to confer some kind of mantle on me?”
Kaka clarified, “No. You may be inheriting our fight, but not our mantles.”
Raijin Ōteishin explained, “We have all seen the anthropophagic nature of mantles.”
Shō‘usagi continued, “We have no intention of sublimating your personality to ours as a living sacrifice to our own egos…”
Gamyeon Meikoku continued, “We are not so prideful as to deconstruct another so that we can reconstruct them into our own image. There is far too much value in anyone to do such a cruel thing.”
Hokyū finished, “On the contrary, our goal is to help you cultivate your own potential, to become what you need to be… As others did for us.”
I asked them, “So you’re here to teach me?”
Chōjin confirmed, “Yes. We seek to teach you everything we know.”
I told them, “I am always eager to learn, but I have a question. Why can’t I see you?”
Raijin Ōteishin explained, “We have been prevented from making complete contact with you, both by the WORLDBUILDER themselves, yourself, and Shishi.”
I skeptically asked them, “And who might that be?”
Chōjin replied, “I believe you’ve met before.”
The ghostly image of a massive lion thence introduced themselves. “Hello, Will.”
Gamyeon Meikoku and the Chōjin bowed down to the beast and referred to it as, “Lord [Shishi].”
I asked, utterly flabbergasted, “Who are you?”
He said, “Do you not recognize me? We’ve met before, on the day you died.”
A statement that gave me pause. It was at this moment that I recognized this to be, in quality, like the near-death experience I experienced on my seventh birthday.
The lion told me, “It’s good that you do not simply trust any spirit that comes along, and that you have skeptically interrogated those that come before you.”
Shishi offered, “If you may, let me show you who I am.”
Shishi opened their mouth, and in it I beheld the entire planet. The image zoomed out, and I beheld the Earth, moon, and sun in alignment before the image receded past the Pluto-Charon double planet system and hitherto undiscovered worlds in the Kuiper belt. Receding further, the solar system became but a twinkling speck in the arm of a bar spiral Milky Way galaxy. Faster we receded to behold the Milky Way’s place in the Local group, then Virgo Supercluster, the Laniakea Supercluster, beyond our Pisces–Cetus Supercluster Complex, out to the very edges of the Observable Universe. Though it did not stop there. In sanity’s name, we receded at impossible acceleration to what seemed to be an ℵ₀ radius, which then itself receded into but an ever-shrinking bubble in a seemingly boundless sea of bubbles with ℵ₀ radii, until even this cosmic ocean filled with soapy superstructures became but a marble in the lion’s mouth. The fiery illumination circumscribing all this was beyond mortal comprehension.
There was something incomprehensibly frightful about this wild beast. But there was something else which engendered a peaceful awe within me.
I asked him, “I know you. Why have you come to me in this fairy tale guise?”
The lion told me, “The Worldbuilder has styled themselves as an author. A demiurgic storyteller who seeks to contort all of history into a metanarrative of their own working. She little appreciates the co-authorship of divine wonderworking and human freedom in history, and she is willing to co-opt the stories generated by the human heart or mind to accomplish this evil end. Understanding this, do you accept the mission we have entrusted you with?”
I told him, “Of course. I will stand in opposition to all false gods.”
Shishi confessed to me, “I would rather not destroy the Worldbuilder, if at all possible, but she will not listen to anything that comes from me.”
All the spirits voiced their mutual agreement. That, if it was at all possible, they would prefer that the Worldbuilder be saved as opposed to killed, though it was also apparent that most of them were highly doubtful that there was any other option other than killing them.
Muteki Shōkyō interjected, “That’s why you are key to this cosmic operation.”
Shishi revealed, “The Worldbuilder’s entire plan hinges on you.”
I asked him, “Excuse me, how can that be?”
Gamyeon Meikoku revealed, “Because she loves you more than anything in the world.”
I responded again with, “Excuse me?”
Shō‘usagi pleaded, “Remember back to when the Worldbuilder contacted you in your dreams? What feeling did they communicate?”
This struck a chord with me. I felt a surge of compassion and love when I was with them, but I left the encounter promising to save them because something deep down was telling me they were in a distress I could not yet fathom.
Shishi explained, “I need you to speak to her the words she will not hear from me.”
I asked him, “What words might those be?”
Shishi told me, “We love you, and that there is no sin, however great, which God cannot forgive.”
I asked incredulously, “Surely, it can’t be that easy?”
The Chōjin commented, “He never said it would be easy. In fact, it will be the hardest thing you will ever have to do.”
This piqued my attention, and the lion forewarned, “When you discover the name of your unknown enemy, your heart will break like nothing you have ever experienced before. And when you finally defeat them, you will, like Job, cry out to God in an awful rage. It will seem to you as if being itself were a cruel joke without a punchline, and you will be unable to see how there could ever be any happiness ever again. You will think to yourself, that you’d have rather danced this dance for all of boundless time than see how this story ends, and you will curse the name of the Lord of the Dance, but remember that you are not responsible for the decisions of others. Ultimately, you cannot save anyone who doesn’t want to be saved, no matter how much you love them… because sometimes, the people in need of your help simply want nothing you have to give.”
Raijin Ōteishin explained, “This is a lesson you’ll have to learn through experience, but you can’t always save the people you love.”
Taikū Chōjin expanded, “Though, even if they are not ours to save, they will always be ours to love.”
I responded, “You lot speak as if I should know this person…”
Chōjin foreshadowed, “You do… You did… and you will…”
I asked them incredulously, “So my mission is to defeat this enemy of yours who has taken an interest in me?”
Chōjin immediately corrected my misconception. “No. Strength, speed, intelligence, and power are all irrelevant in the face of this villain. They will amount to nothing in the face of the anti-God’s invincible power.”
Kaka revealed, “It’s not a matter of hax either. If it comes down to a conflict founded upon violence, you simply will lose. You could have 12,852,051,967,633,867 superpowers and it wouldn’t matter. The Worldbuilder has total mastery over spacetime, mass-energy, information, consciousness, sensation, form, modality, causality, and much more.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Gamyeon Meikoku chimed in, “We’re counting on a miracle. A wonderworking with human hands strengthened by faith like a mustard seed.”
Shishi pleaded with me, “The only way for you to defeat the Worldbuilder, is to save them from themself.”
This was all extremely daunting, so I asked them, “How do you suggest I try to reach them?”
Shishi promised, “In due time, we shall teach you what to say.”
I heard the faint echoes of words in the distance. Words spoken in the past, the present, the future, and in unactualized possibilities.
From the noble beast I felt emanate a transcendent love and compassion far surpassing anything I had ever experienced on Earth, and infinitely greater than even that of the other spirits before me. It was an earnestness which feared not the ridicule of any other. An honesty which did not compromise behind a mask of irony. I felt their emotions flow through me, from some invisible reality which can only be known through abstraction, and my tears began to flow from experiencing a mere fraction of the beast’s compassion and mourning.
Shishi pleaded with me, “Daughter of God, please. Help me save them…”
I promised them all, “I already promised the Worldbuilder that I would save them. And to you I swear, on my soul, I will do all that I can to save them all.”
Shishi told me, “I will send to you the bear, beetle, bull, dragon, elephant, falcon, horse, mouse, rabbit, sauropod, serpent, tiger, whale, and the wolf, among many others to aid you in your mission.”
Chōjin asked, “Do you accept our offer?”
I told him, “Yes. For the greater good of God, I will accept any meritorious training.”
Shishi ended our meeting with, “Farewell, Daughter of God. Remember your mission and keep the faith.”
* * *
I woke up in a cold sweat, an hour before my morning alarm. Attempting to shrug off this strange dream, I tried to go back to sleep, but it quickly became obvious that I was too wired for that. Since I could not go to sleep, performed my morning exercises, took a shower, and went downstairs to prepare lunch. Although, as always, my father, ever the insomniac, was already up and in the process of making breakfast.
Passing by the photo of my late adoptive mother and my late adoptive parents, I made the sign of the cross, a gestural prayer, and told them, “Good morning.”
I heard my father, from the kitchen, say, “Morning, Will.”
Entering the kitchen, I asked my father, “Dad, can we buy some icons or statues?”
My father, not missing a beat while cooking, asked, “Saint William of Perth?”
I told him, “I was thinking more of Saint Anthony or Saint Jude.”
He told me, “I’ll print out a few statues and we’ll have them blessed next time we go to church, so write a list and I’ll get to it. We’ll find some icons later in the week.”
“Thank you, dad.” I told him.
My requests were purposeful. Saint Anthony of Padua is the patron saint of missing persons, whereas Saint Jude the Apostle is the patron saint of apparently hopeless causes. Even after salvaging so many bodies from the G² Impact, the number of missing persons was still staggering. This terrible list, which was still being compiled, included people who were most likely cremated if not vaporized within the fireball of the explosion, but also counted bodies and survivors not yet identified, and therefore unaccounted for.
I figured that a devotion to saint Anthony would become important to the life of a superhero, especially given the novel incursion of kaijū and the mass devastation they can cause. My thoughts of saint Jude were similarly pragmatic. As I promised in the dream, I wanted to save everyone I could, including of whatever rogue’s gallery that might come my way.
Father told me, “By the way, Will. I already texted your tatarabuelo. He wants us to call him at 15:00 hours.”
I lit up at this revelation. “Alright, I can’t wait! But why so late?”
Father told me, “A business friend is leaving the country for a time, and they asked to leave their daughter, one of your classmates in fact, in our care. They’ll be here at noon, but considering their father works on military time, that’s 15 minutes prior, so after we eat, we’ll need to do some cleaning. I’ll have your Saint Anthony and Jude statues printed before they arrive.”
This wasn’t a laborious task, as cleaning up after us was a core value of our household.
Father’s promise was true. He downloaded a beautiful model of saint Anthony holding the infant Jesus, as well as one of saint Jude, and the 3D printer sculpted and then painted them with wonderful precision. He also printed a statue of Saint Michael the Archangel, the patron saint of warriors and poor souls and the Guardian of the Catholic Church, with the devil underfoot. Even throwing in a statue of Saint William of Perth, the patron of adopted children. They were all lovingly designed by digital sculptors whose skills paralleled Michelangelo.
We discussed where to place the home altar.
Fifteen minutes prior to noon, as dad predicted, Madison arrived.
My father greeted them at the door, “Hello, Mrs. Sakurada (桜田). Please come inside.”
I stayed out of sight, eavesdropping on the conversation.
Madison’s mother told him, “I’m sorry, John, but I have deeds to perform and simply cannot stay for pleasantries.”
I heard Madison say, “Het spijt me for the intrusion, meneer Trueman.”
My father was a polyglot, like me. Something necessitated by his work in managing talents across multiple countries and multiple languages. He wasn’t as fluent in Dutch as he was in Korean, neither of which have I studied before, but it didn’t take a linguist to understand that “Het spijt me” was an apology.
Madison’s mother told him, “My husband and I leave our daughter in your capable hands. You behave yourself, now, Madison.”
“I will, mother.” Was the young girl’s sendoff.
My father told Mrs. Sakurada, “Godspeed on your mission, ma’am.”
“Will, come to the door.” My father requested.
Madison entered the house, and her mother departed for reasons unknown to me.
I entered the room and there she stood. A beautiful half-Japanese and half-Dutch girl with a striking face. She primarily took after her Yamato father as opposed to her Caucasoid mother, but the organization of her inherited physical characteristics generated a striking appearance. Her facial structure was clearly that of a gracilized variant of the Manchu-Korean type, though her pale skin, fine, blonde, ankle length hair, moderate freckling, and heterochromic eyes: with the left eye being green and the right eye being blue, betrayed her admixture.
She styled her hair into twin tails. Her attire was a fashionable yellow blazer, a black undershirt, a yellow knee-length dress, black tights, black flats, a blue scarf, and sunglasses. In addition, she brought along a wheeled-suitcase, a large backpack, and a purse.
Madison was a peaceable girl, but there was a reason I preferred to hang out with boys. I never appreciated the backbiting, gaslighting, and petty trivialities which often came along with feminine company, but Madison never engaged in such behavior. At least, to my knowledge, anyway. Rather, she, like me, was often the victim of such foul falsities from peers of our own sex. From what I understood, we both endured these laughable claims with long-suffering grace.
My dad explained, “I’m sorry, Will. I wanted to introduce you to Mrs. Sakurada, but she’s got humanitarian work to do… Madison’s gonna be spending the next few weeks with us.”
I asked, “Humanitarian work?”
Madison explained, “My parents are going overseas to oversee for a humanitarian project to help the people in Japan.”
Madison gave a momentary bow, explaining, “It’s nice to meet you, mevrouw Trueman.”
Dad told her, “There’s no need to be so formal. Will, why don’t you show our guest around the house?”
I obeyed my father and gave Madison a tour of the house, showing her the library, the gym in the basement, the storage attic, etc. She seemed nervous of the presence of bladed weapons and firearms, but this seemed to stem more from an inexperience around these things than any negligence on our part. After all, they were all secured within an appropriate safe.
During this chaotic period, despite the relative peace in our town, my father always remained strapped. Just in case there was a disturbance that merited an immediate and decisive response. Not everywhere was like our town, though. In many cities around the world, panic drove the people to riots and looting, leaving entire towns ruined.
“This is my room. Come in, please.” I told her, showing her the last room of the house.
She entered the room and said, “Pardon.”
Though, she said it with a Dutch pronunciation as opposed to a French one.
Now, with both of us standing alone in my room, I asked her, “What did you want to talk about?”
Madison confessed, “Well, I want to get to know the girl in my homeroom, who turned out to be a magical girl… and I wanted to thank you for what you did the other day. You saved many people, including a cousin and friend of mine.”
She committed an extreme bow, and this made me extremely uncomfortable.
“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” She said.
I nervously informed her, “There’s no need for this, Madison.”
I touched her shoulders as she looked at me, and I told her, “There’s no need for this.”
She looked at me, and I encouraged her to stand back up as I told her, “I’m glad I was able to save your cousin and friend, but I didn’t do that for praise or admiration. I did it because I have a responsibility to help people in need.”
Madison clearly didn’t know how to respond to this, and I used this opportunity to make a request, “Now about my secret…”
Madison assured me, “As I promised, I have absolutely no intention of telling anyone about your secret identity. I assure you, I quite understand the importance of secrecy in a magical girl’s work.”
I extended my hand, and when we shook hands, I told her, “It’s nice to officially meet you, Madison.”
Madison responded, “It’s nice to officially meet you too, Ms. Trueman.”
I asked Madison, “So, do you have any hobbies?”
She seemed eager at the prospect of this subject.
Pulling out her phone, she told me, “My hobby is animation. My father bought me a bunch of programs for digital art, 3D modeling, image editing, video editing, audio editing, postproduction, and I even have an AI to help me speed up the process!”
She presented me with her phone to show me the channel シャボン天城 (Shabon Amagi), on Popom, an instance on a federated video hosting service. Despite her age, she had already created highly complex and innovative AMVs, an amateur documentary on the history of her mother and father’s individual companies, two animated short films, and many complex animatics in between these. This was all quite impressive, and she struck me as a bit of an auteur in the making. That is when I learned Madison was a cinephile and took great joy in the creative processes of video editing and animation.
I asked her, “So, how did you animate this?”
She explained, “I got the idea from rotoscoping. I built some 3D models and used Fight.ai to generate a series of fights. Once I found the ones I liked, I spliced them together to my liking. Then I experimented with cinematography and once I got what I wanted. I then redrew the whole thing, using the original fight choreography as a reference.”
The amount of detail in this scene was truly impressive. There were several details that most animators would miss because of difficulties with camera angles and a general lack of experience with the art of grappling, which were perfectly replicated in the animation.
I asked her, “Did you consult with someone to help choreograph this fight?”
She told me, “Of course, I consulted with the head of the MMA club at our school in order to come up with this.”
I vaguely remembered seeing the two talking to each other a couple of months ago, and while I thought it strange, I never investigated it. Figuring they might have an odd but delightful friendship.
It was clear that she did not let the AI create the works. Rather, she used it as a tool to help speed up and refine the artistic process. Like a magician who knew the incantations to move clay or sand into useable configurations that she could further manipulate with her own creative spirit. After all, there were things that an AI, performing its myriad of calculations, could notice that a human brain never could; though conversely, there were a myriad of things that a transistor computer could never see that would be immediately discernable to a trained human mind.
It was at this point Madison asked me, “So, I have a favor to ask related to this.”
I looked at her and told her, “Shoot.”
She told me, “I would like to document the adventures of a magical girl through animation.”
I was at a loss for words, but she assured me, “I don’t mean to pry into your personal life. Rather, I’d like to consult you for finer details that news footage might not capture. To better represent not just you, but the various men and women of virtue who might arise in the coming years. I want to understand you, what motivates you to do what you’ve chosen to do, and I aspire to communicate this understanding to others. So please, let me document your excursions.”
I reluctantly gave in to her pleading grue eyes, “Alright. I’ll be your consultant. Though keep in mind that the reasons I’ve done what I’ve done are more important than myself.”
Madison told me, “Thank you, Ms. Trueman.”
Then she requested her phone back, “I have something else I’d like to ask you.”
She showed me an article titled, “DistribuTube Channel Unearths Lost Treasures: Rare Media Resurfaces Online.”
I had never heard of this. DistribuTube, was another instance on a federated video hosting service. When I pressed the link, it took me to the channel MediaRecovery, and we found the article’s claims were true. Scrolling down I also found that they alleged to have uploaded Japanese-made King Kong (1933), Bulgasari (1962), Batman Fights Dracula (1967), Alam Ara (1931), Kalidas (1931), The Life of General Villa (1914), Young Griffo vs. Battling Charles Barnett (1895), and Dingjun Mountain (1905). All 97 lost episodes of Doctor Who were apparently on this channel as well.
This account had been flying under the radar for the past one thousand four hundred days and had uploaded fifty videos a day. While we obviously could not watch all the seventy thousand videos hosted, everything we saw was hitherto lost media videos.
Madison asked, “Is it possible that the owner of this account is a metahuman?”
I looked at her with some skepticism, but the thought crossed my mind. How could one person possibly come into possession of so many works that had vanished off the face of the Earth? Especially from such a wide variety of sources. Some of these appeared to have been things which should have been lost via the old practice of wiping tapes for reuse. Others would have never been salvageable because of the deterioration of nitrate-based film reels. Hell, some of these appeared to be lost VODs from vtubers my great grandfather might’ve watched. My father’s detailed files on the history of vtubers included a file on someone called Pikamee, who graduated on March 1, 2023. Fifty-two years ago, and yet here were unarchived VODs belonging to her in this library.
After momentary consideration, I answered, “I’m hesitant to say so, but the more I think about how such a collection of lost media might be compiled and uploaded by one person… the more it seems to be the only plausible answer.”
Madison agreed with me. “I thought so.”
I asked her, “Is there a reason you asked me?”
Madison revealed, “I figured, since you’re a metahuman, you might know more about this stuff than I do.”
I politely told Madison, “I’m not that much more knowledgeable than you are. The first time I’ve ever met a metahuman was during the G² Impact relief efforts I helped with. Outside of that, my only familiarity with metahumans is in fiction.”
Madison simply said, “I see…”
After a beat, I remembered Madison could speak Japanese and Dutch, and I asked her about the strange encounter the other day.
“Hey, Madison… What does ‘Wiru-chan, okā-sama’ mean?”
Madison looked completely befuddled by this phrase and she asked me, “Where did you hear that?”
I confessed, “I crashed into a Japanese girl, and she said that after she saw me.”
Madison asked, “Are you sure that is what they said?”
I told her, “I have an eidetic memory, so I’m pretty sure that’s what she said.”
Madison explained, “It’s an extremely unusual phrase, and it doesn’t sound like something that a native speaker would ever say.”
I asked her, “Noted, but what does it mean?”
Madison told me, “It’s an inherently paradoxical, if not intrinsically contradictory, description. ‘Okā-sama’ is the polite address for your mother, while ‘-chan’ is an honorific mostly used to refer to young women and children. ‘Wiru’ on the otherhand is a Japonization of ‘Will’. So, it means something like, ‘Will-chan, mother’. It’s not a proper sentence.”
This puzzled me, but Madison hypothesized, “Was this girl a Hāfu, by chance?”
I told her, “Yeah, she had a Tamil surname.”
Madison suggested, “It sounds to me as if she thought that you had a striking similarity to childhood pictures or videos of her mother.”
I expressed my doubts about this. “I don’t think that’s the case. If she’s half-Japanese and her surname is Tamil, then it’s almost certain that her father is Indian. Which would mean that her mother is Japanese. Even if it were the case, I’m clearly half-Bantu and half-Sinitic, so I don’t exactly look like a Dravidian.”
Madison asked me, “What’s a Dravidian?”
I told her, “One of the ethnic groups of India.”
We sat around and discussed many things, and played a few party games, including an American variant of Mensch ärgere Dich nicht with a pop-o-matic center to roll the dice. Madison’s luck was consistently more favorable than mine, by the way.
When the time came, my father and I called my tartabuelo and introduced him to our new friend. Madison was polite as ever and we watched some of the show that my father suggested, which we all found greatly entertaining.
After the call, my father turned on an independent news channel and we saw something unexpected.
It was video footage from the city of Hong Kong twelve hours ago. Someone attacked the police department, and while they killed no one, it was clear the strangely unarmed police were in an abject panic. The cameraman, filming out of an apartment window, focused on something in the air.
A young man standing upon a Hellenic aspis. Orbiting around him was an arrangement of rifles and ballistic shields in a spherical grid around him. The longitudinal and latitudinal rings revolving independently around him.
He spoke in English into the loudspeaker, “For too long have we Hongkongers been under the thumb of the Communist Party of China! The Party has destroyed our culture, robbed us of our sovereignty, rewritten our history, corrupted our language, subverted our religions, and stolen our identity! We will no longer tolerate such abuses! Me and my allies will stake our lives to secure the independence of Hong Kong from the Party! Whether we shall be a city state or shall return to the Commonwealth Realm shall be left for future consideration, but for now, we have an ultimatum! If you will not vacate our islands peacefully, we will expel you by force! The Party has 24-hours to respond! Fuck around, and you will find out!”
There was an almost sadistic glee in his face, like that of a man whose reservation was pragmatic. As if he was, in his core, almost begging for someone to throw the first swing, so that he could release his inner chimpanzee and rip them to shreds.
He then repeated this same announcement in Cantonese and Mandarin.
I realized immediately the danger this could pose to the people of Hong Kong. Even if they had metahumans with great power or comprehensive hax, the sheer number disparity between the small islands and the mainland was horrifying. If they did, in fact, have the right metahumans to secure their independence from the mainland, the bloodshed required to do so was nothing short of nightmarish. As much as Hong Kong independence appealed to me, I did not want to see a massacre of Hongkongers or Chinamen.
The Chinese Communist Party had long since turned the mainland into a techno-Maoist dystopia, so these counterrevolutionaries would have to go up against the various artificial intelligence programs monitoring everything in the country and the massive manpower granted by the Stalinist doctrine of quantity is its own quality.
It took a bit before I realized I had become so lost in my thoughts that Madison became worried and tried to snap me out of it.
Madison reminded me, “It’s not your job to save the world. Focus on helping those you can locally first.”
I confessed to Madison, “You don’t understand. Overseas, I met another metahuman who explicitly told me that my actions, in revealing metahumanity to the world, emboldened people to use their powers more readily. No one was using their powers like this before I stepped in and…”
Madison reminded me, “That doesn’t matter. What other people choose to do is their own responsibility. Not yours.”
After some time, it was time to go to sleep.
Before heading to bed, when dad was working on something in the studio, I summoned my alter ego for night patrol. Once more, five hundred meters away from the house and in the air.
Madison wore an adorable set of pajamas with a rose pattern.
Madison asked me in a whisper, “Are you not going on patrol?”
I whispered, “Since you saw me, I learned how to summon my alter ego at a considerable distance.”
She asked me, “What?”
I quietly told her, “I don’t have to transform into the Lolita Princess. I could always bilocate as myself and her.”
Madison couldn’t help but lightly say, “Verbluffend!”
We turned the lights out, Madison politely objected to my insistence regarding who sleeps where, “You know… I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”
I adamantly responded, “Well, I care about you sleeping on the floor. Which is precisely why I demanded that you sleep in my bed.”
Madison pointed out, “My sleeping in your bed doesn’t mean that you have to sleep on the floor.”
I explained, “I don’t know how much you toss and turn in your sleep, so I don’t want to crowd you, as I toss and turn.”
Madison apologized for the apparent imposition, and I honestly told her it didn’t bother me. I was quite glad to have spent this time with her.
Before we dozed off, I asked Madison, “Hey, Madison. How long are your folks going to be away?”
Madison told me, “My parents plan to be away for a year, but considering the state of the country as it is now…”
There was a pause as if she had to compose herself, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about their safety… The thought that I might never see one, or both, of them ever again has crossed my mind as a horrible possibility, but I understand why they left and why they had to leave me behind.”
I told Madison, “I’m sorry, Madison. I know what it’s like to lose a family member, so I’ll keep your family in my prayers.”
Madison told me, “Thank you, Will. I appreciate that very much.”
I confessed to Madison, “I failed Sakura.”
Madison’s silence invited me to explain.
I confessed, “When the news of what happened came out, I didn’t know what to say, how to comfort her, or what she needed… so I avoided going to go see her. I want to see her, or at least call her, but the school’s lockdown and her absence from online activities have made it very difficult to get into contact with her.”
Madison told me, “Did you know Sakura is a Roman Catholic?”
I confessed, “No. I didn’t.”
Madison told me, “That’s why her parents named her Sakura. In honor of the Blessed Mother, or at least that’s what I was told.”
I revealed, “I was unaware of that connection.”
Madison told me, “Her parents are still missing, but you’ve been praying for all the people who’ve been affected by the G² Impact, correct?”
I told her, “Of course, and I’ve made specific petitions for her parents.”
Madison suggested, “Don’t you think she would appreciate that? She is a sweet girl. She will forgive you for not knowing how to handle the situation and making a good faith error in judgement. Don’t dwell on it too much. I’ll help get you two together to talk when I can, but till then, please be patient.”
There were tears flowing from my eyes, and my voice cracked ever so slightly when I said, “Thank you, Madison.”
Madison told me, “No need to thank me. It’s what friends do. Now go to sleep.”
That night, Madison woke me up from another nightmare, which had caught the attention of my father as well.
With the lights on, I could see the look on Madison’s face. While my father was calm and stoic, Madison was taken aback by the apparent severity of the night terror I had just had. Her eyes communicated more than words ever could. It was then she understood the stakes at play in my being the Lolita Princess.
I apologized to both, and both assured me that there was no need to apologize. My father attempted to inquire about what caused this and I told him that current events had me profoundly stressed out, which, while not a lie, was not wholly true either. We all went back to sleep.