“Are you pissed because people keep knocking on your door?
Then you don’t have a solid enough door.
My advice? Add some metal spikes. Coated with poison. And anti-personnel mines. And laser beams.
Anyways. The point is to show everyone there will be consequences for meddling with you.
Of course, regular old ass-beating works just as well.
-Jhonathan Chase, on “Anti-Meta Construction”
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“That’s not what a window is supposed to look like” Mika brilliantly observed.
Ya don’t say Sherlock, how did you find out?
He had woken up to Mika’s notification that “something was wrong” and “he better saw it by himself.” He didn’t know he expected. She had probably got up for a midnight snack. On one hand, it could perfectly be that she had downed the cereal box in the fridge. Another one. Mika ate those things like they were candy. Each box. Yes, box included, somewhy. He had told her off on in several times.
On the other hand, it could be that they were now isolated in a different dimension where time and space were foreign concepts with a supernatural entity gazing at them in ways it shouldn’t have been possible.
At this point, he could expect anything. From anywhere.
To his surprise, it was a much simpler matter. Somewhere in the middle of that spectrum.
The mangled mess that had once been a nice window in the kitchen to keep the air circulation inside the house was far past fixing. The frame was bent and splintered, and there was glass sprawled anywhere. And by anywhere, Lawrence meant some of it had managed to leave a scratch in the previously smoothly polished surface of the microwave.
Lawrence was angry.
It wasn’t nearly a shadow of the rage he felt when his house was partially blown apart, but the violation of his personal space in repeated ocations, in such a short span of time, was irritating. It was an attack to the sanctity of his home.
Someone was paying.
“What are we missing?” Lawrence asked to Mika. This had obviously been robbery. He only hoped his chocolate chip cookies had been left untouched, or he feared for whoever had dared to do this.
This is war.
“Toaster’s gone!” Mika’s voice came muffled from the mini-pantry. “They also took the blender away. They left the cookies untouched” she said, like she could read his thoughts. “That’s dumb. Why breaking in and leaving the most important thing?”
As much as Lawrence agreed, he was still relieved to hear that.
Now, let’s see what we’re facing.
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“Interesting.” Christiane carefully inspected the broken window.
“It’s not interesting” Mika protested. “It’s a crime!”
“A crime committed with a replica of the Hurricane Hero’s swordspear. In shape only, of course, else the whole house would have fallen apart.”
Lawernce shivered at the thought. Having his house blown off was enough of a traumatizing experience to add Stomrlord Zeustro’s lance to the equation. Even if it was only a replica.
“How do you know they used that?” Mika cocked her head to a side. Lawrence had the same question running through his mind, although he couldn’t ask her about it. He couldn’t ask her about anything, really. He was too afraid of having her notice he wasn’t the all-seeing deity she made of him.
“Well, mainly the broken edges here and there form a cross-shaped hole, with one pair of opposing arms shorter than the other. And by the way the glass is split into even-shaped pieces instead of growing bigger from the center of the hole, it’s obvious it was done with a piercing weapon. The only thing I know that fills out both requirements is Zeustro’s golden swordspear… but I can hardly imagine the Hurricane Hero recurring to burglary.”
Lawrence nodded as if her words made perfect sense, wondering how on earth she had managed to see all those things in a five minutes lapse. That’s how strategists are supposed to work, isn’t it? Think fast, think hard. Then again, it’s one thing to hear of it and another thing altogether to see it in action.
… She will make for a fine field commander.
He had thought on this for a while after knowing about the particularities of her skills and such. Her ability to convey thoughts and ideas instantly while in the midst of battle, and taking a ridiculous input of information and processing it and making decisions about how to deal with the situation in an equally ridiculous amount of time were a decisive factor on this. He was… partially sure she wouldn’t try anything against him. For now. It was clear she didn’t have the capacity to hide things from him, since he had constantly been using the Evileye of Truth around her to test for any lies and came up with nothing.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
But those were thoughts for another time. Right now, someone had to pay for his broken window, and his toaster.
And the blender. Can’t forget the blender.
Gods I’m so happy they didn’t touch the cookies.
“You did what?!”
Gallutneck was losing it.
You lose it a lot. I don’t think you have it in you to begin with.
Shut up! It’s not time to be talking to you!
But I am you. Are you having thoughts of dislike against yourself, Jean? Should I be worried? I can call the suicide prevention line if you want… Oh no, wait! I can’t! Because I am a byproduct of your imagination!
You are technically a byproduct of my power, and I am perfectly sane thank you!
Right. Let’s check the list again. Talking with a voice on your head… Snapping on others suddenly in the middle of conversation… Sudden changes in the mood for no apparent reason… thoughts of dislikeness of self…
“No apparent reason? These mongrels, excrement-filled-cranal-cavity towering pair of massive sorry excuses for mooks just robbed a random house because they were god. Damn. BORED!!! WITH THAT THING?!?!” He pointed at the spear replica in the hands of one of the meat titans. I should have a wide blade in better days, enough to make for a Gladiator sword on it’s own. When put on the tip a cross-shaped handle, and powered by the hands of one of SU’s strongest superheroes, the thing became a weapon of mass destruction…
The original. This one was bent and split on one side, and parts of it had chipped away on the impact.
The worst part? It’s MY limited edition Zeustro’s Dragonslayer Swordspear!
The towering pair of sorry excuses for mooks did not look thrilled about Gallutneck yelling at them. They would probably be even less happy, if they actually understood what he was saying.
If they did they wouldn’t be here in the first place, you dummy.
Yeah, I thought intimidating brainless muscle into obedience was a fine idea. I am such a goddamn genius. Happy now?!
I never said anything.
I. Am. YOU!!! You don’t HAVE to say anything, remember?
Oh, let’s add DID to that list and cross out fingers you’re not turning mad… er.
“What on earth makes you think you can go around breaking windows and stealing stuff? Because you are bored? Do I look like I am happy? Tell me, is this the face of happiness?”
Gallutneck smiled at them.
“Uh… yes?” One of them, the baldy freckled one that looked like it had something of orc on his blood answered. His name was… Boden. Broler. Baul. Something like that.
“Do you see me with this face most of the time?!”
“Yes?” the other said. He had a short cut mess of wheat-like hair. Also, no freckles. Gallutneck was pretty certain his name was somewhere along the lines of Harrison. Or Hendrickson.
Dude, you are such a great boss! No wonder your mooks are just as… eh, how could I say it in a way it doesn’t hurt their…? Oh, fuck it. They are dumb, Jean. Really, really dumb. You better get rid of them. Quick.
Murder?
Gods- No! You are not a monster!
He arched a brow.
Okay, we were thinking about murder, but what would you do with the bodies anyway? They look like it would take a couple of trash containers to fit then, even cut in pieces.
So what do I do?
Honorable discharge.
You mean beat them to almost-death and dump them somewhere random?
Sure. It’s not like they can find the way back anyway. I seriously doubt these folk can tie their own shoelaces for all it’s worth.
Alright. But remember, no killing.
Unless it comes to it?
You know the way it goes.
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“How are we catching the baddies?”
Mikaella Brown, you have no idea how much I adore your curiosity.
She had been asking all the right questions at all the right times. It was a bliss. And it saved him the effort.
“Well, although there are many people out there willing to buy a toy copy of Zeustro’s spear, it’s evident this one in particular wasn’t a regular replica. Hollowed plastic does not fare well against glass, after all. So that narrows the list of purchasers down by a notch. I did quick research on the matter, and as it happens to be, only special edition replicas are made with impact-resistant quick-dry putty.”
Putty?
Seriously?
“There are only four people in Worne YK in possession of limited editions. Two of them live far away enough from Plaza that I have ruled them out for the moment. That leaves us with two possible culprits. I chose this… Jean Gallutneck in particular because of his curious records.”
“Whatever do you mean by that?”
“Mr. Gallutneck has been suspected to suffer several personality disorders and mental illnesses, although he has flawlessly passed the tests for each one. Whether he is extremely smart- which would rule him out of the equation; or he possesses an interesting enough personality that it resembles several diseases. I am curious. Of course, I did not only choose him by those standards” she said, and Lawrence bit his tongue before scolding her.
At least she didn’t pick this guy because she was curious. Entirely. What kind of name is Gallutneck anyway?
“The other reason is that Mr. Gallutneck has emptied a reasonable sum of money from his bank account recently- at least, reasonable enough to appear suspicious, all things considered.”
“Very well then.” Lawrence decided he had heard enough. If they were wrong, there was only one choice left anyway.
“Let us pay this Gallutneck a quick pleasure visit.”
Twin madness-purple stars shone bright in the night.
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“This smells yuck” Mika said. She was holding her fingers on her nose like a clothespin.
“I agree,” Christiane seconded, motion and everything.
Lawrence couldn’t help but to agree as well. There was a… peculiar aroma that smelled like rotten eggs had eaten spoiled fish and melted on its own puddle of vomit. The smell was… better than that of the sewers, if only by a close margin.
There was junk everywhere. Beer cans, paper sheets, food spoils, chewing gum and else. He could not imagine someone living here for long. I would have to cut my nose to survive. He probably should do that just to endure.
Nonetheless, he was a criminal mastermind hellbent on world domination. And his subordinates were watching.
“Endure. Let’s proceed.”
It was like telling someone not to quiver after getting out of the cold water, but eh, everything for the sake of appearance. Although he really only had to hold it together with Christiane. Mika somehow understood the civilian Lawrence Lakewood and the Villain Ingenio were two different people, at least in appearance. She wasn’t bothered by it, apparently.
Revealing Lawrence Lakewood to Christiane might not be the smartest idea.
Alright, let’s go in.
I hope I don’t die after this.
He imagined what his tombstone would read if he did.
Lawrence Lakewood. The smell never got better.
… Yeah, he’d have to think something better on that sometime.