Toinette and Chastity's Excellent Adventure - Part 2

Some things were constant across a lot of worlds. The nightlife in a rather seedy town seemed to be one of them.

Well, sort of. Toinette felt like she had stumbled into one of those museums Julius had dragged her to, twice. The level of tech was what Toinette would call ‘boring ass backward’. No electricity, no vehicles, and by extension no televisions and all that jazz. The town was made up of buildings forged of stone, wood, and straw. If Toinette had any care for such things, she would have found the stonework was sublime in its design, more like the buildings had been crafted by hand manipulating clay instead of mining out big rocks and sort of stacking them on each other where they fit. But she didn’t, so she didn’t.

No matter where she went though, some things always tended to catch eyes. And wearing an outfit like the one Toinette had ‘borrowed’ was one of them. It was an outfit designed by someone who might have a little too much obsession with spiders. It covered her body by dint of a lot of crisscrossing leather straps, and didn’t leave much to the imagination - probably because the aforementioned designer didn’t have much of one. Toinette liked it a lot, even though she'd had to do a lot of work to get it to fit her body. There was more Chastity in the world than Toinette.

Unfortunately, it mostly seemed to make the people she were meeting, who tended to top off at ‘rough’, think she was a woman of the night of a different fashion.

“Back off”, she snarled, batting away what felt like the twentieth hand. Okay, maybe this wasn’t the way to fit in. But she didn’t really have much choice in clothing options - it was this or something REALLY incongruous. She picked up her pace and hoped to leave the latest annoyance behind.

Unfortunately, again...in a place like this...there was an extremely dark take on the phrase ‘won’t take no for an answer’, as she rapidly realized she was being followed. And not in a “appreciate the view’ sense.

Suddenly Chastity’s assessment of the state of the town made a little more sense. And unfortunately, Chastity did not stock spare weapons.

Toinette sighed internally. Looks like it was time to cause a scene.

She threw a glance back over her shoulder, to let them know the she knew she was being followed, and then headed into the nearest alleyway. It was cramped and stunk of basically every body fluid a human had to offer, but it'd do. She waited until she heard footsteps behind her.

This could only go one way, and it wasn't theirs. Astra fizzled at her fingertips.

Apparently, they were not so unprepared that they just walked into anything. No. They gleaned she was going to fight, and one whipped a rock at her head with a sling.

She caught it, an alien smirk on her features. The men wondered what had happened in that intervening split second.

“Look,” she said, “you bastards ever read a shitty fantasy novel? 'cause here’s how things go…”

Toinette changed. The men saw her grow taller, become more beautiful, filling out the hastily adjusted outfit. But then her features became thin, fox-like, her body taking strange proportions…

Then there were stars.

Passers-by became aware something was very wrong when an arm, Astra still corroding up the bone and flesh, sailed out of the alleyway and landed jauntily in a fruit merchant's crate of apples.

They rapidly decided it was not their problem, and it would be even more not their problem if they cleared out. Well, at least SOME people had gotten a clue she wasn’t someone to mess with.

There had been a few shocked words from the men. They’d TRIED to defend themselves, one had even made his little axe glow green, but they were too slow and their defenses had proven to be...porous at best. Toinette had caught snatches of words, stuff like ‘Blackbird’ and ‘Skin Weaver’, not that she had any context for such terms. Still, no sense letting a few assholes ruin the night. Assholes were another thing that was constant, after all.

Oh wait, one person was still around. The fruit merchant. He didn’t look scared. In fact, he just looked resigned. He’d clearly seen it all. Yeah, he was definitely old and weathered enough to have seen it all. Would explain why he was doing business in this seedy town at night.

“You just ruined m’whole batch, y’know. What is this shit and why did you have to dump it on my fruit?”

Toinette emerged, back to normal and looking sheepish.

“Uh, sorry. Don't touch that. Unless you want another arm. Which might help you, actually!” He didn't look amused. “Sorry.”

She gingerly lifted the arm from the apples and dropped it on the floor. It hissed in the mud.

“Is everyone like that here?” She asked, for lack of better topics. “I really don't want to spend most of my day murdering people.”

“Why in the nine damnations would you be wandering around in Gaudyns at night wearing THAT then?”

“I like leather.” Toinette shrugged.

“...motherloving Blackbirds...you going to pay for my fruit or am I out three days work?”

“Oh yeah.” Toinette mimed reaching behind her for a purse that she didn't have. When she held her hand out, six gold coins winked up at him. “Uh, will that do? I'm not big on the exchange rates…”

“I swear if these turn into mud when you leave...mrgrgr.” It was clear the old man was basically stuck at taking her at her word. But he accepted the coins.

“They won't!” Toinette was not a trickster. Well, uh, not anymore. Those coins would remain good as real. For a long time. They'd probably revert back to mud in a rich man’s bank account somewhere, at which point nobody would be paying attention to six gold coins

She kept telling herself this as she went down the street again, looking for something or someone to do. There did not appear to be many options. The men had proven themselves to be terrible, and she supposed the only other entertainment here was getting drunk. Which was what had caused this mess in the first place.

She walked on, daring something to interest her.

Well, seedy place or not, that didn’t mean they didn’t have good bars. Or taverns, technically.

The one Toinette found was called the Needling Tooth. Compared to the unpleasant dark menace of the streets, it was lit and noisy. Looks like they did have parties even back at this corner of the world. You just had to look around.

Nice.

Toinette grinned and headed in.

The next few hours were blurry. Despite her previous worry, she drank a whole lot. She found a nice girl called Kamilla. She drank some more. She found another nice girl called Amber and introduced her to Kamilla. She drank a lot more. She danced on a table. She met yet another nice girl called Ellie, who was very interesting and also got along well with Amber and Kamilla. She drank yet more.

She woke up upside down. Her feet were tied together, and the rope used to do it was hung on a meat hook.

“For fuck’s sake,” she groaned.

At least she didn’t have a hangover.

Toinette and Chastity's Excellent Adventure Part 1

Toinette opened her eyes and regretted it. This was not the sands of the Caribbean. Grass is not sand. The sky was definitely not the blue clear skies of the beach. This sky was grey. Definitely no sounds of tourists enjoying themselves, and no waves on the shore.

She definitely had the same party hangover as usual, though. Great. Four months of restraint on Rory’s behalf, and the one time you get to party you end up somewhere else. What had she done now? Where the hell was she? Where was Rory? What time and place was this? Damn it, this happened a lot more than was ever reasonable.

Welp, time to figure out how to get back -

She squinted. Something was standing over her, blocking out the sunlight. She looked up.

Hmm. That was a lot of pink. A lot of leg. A lot of… wow, a lot of everything. And not a lot of clothing. That’s interesting.

“Hi,” she managed.

That was also a very sharp sword point on her throat.

“Where you from?”

“Huh?”

“Where you from?”

“...what?”

“...Okay, you’re not tangled up in this.”

The point of the sword moved to the ground, Chastity Faith kneeling down to check the strange woman.

The pyrokinetic generally had two sets of outfits when it came to trouble. One involved a lot of light armor and was worn against beasts, in massive battles, and generally any place where she was unsure of how to dance. The other was in the vein of what she wore now. There was a lot of criticism directed to the drawing trend of putting female warriors in ‘chainmail bikinis’, but as Chastity had found, letting it almost all hang out was a wonderful way to distract, manipulate, and get a lot of men to underestimate her. Fighting was a lot easier, half the time, when the primary thought that came to mind was ‘possess’, not ‘defend’.

This time, the outfit was a mix of barbarian and post apocalyptic. Fur boots, fur ‘panties’ with a belt (well, maybe fur ‘short shorts’, it was kind of halfway between the two), fur shoulders, fur gloves, a collection of necklaces, and feathers woven into Chastity’s hair to create a mohawk style layout. She did not wear a bra: instead she wore tiny patterns of gems seemingly embedded into her skin that just obscured enough so that she wasn’t wholly topless. Besides that, she had some pouches on her belt, a whip tied to her side, and two swords on her back, one on the ground. And sunglasses, or what looked like sunglasses.

If Toinette had any idea where she was, she probably would have guessed that Chastity was not as exposed as she looked. With the magical items known as Intricacies, you could be packing far more protection than bare, exposed skin. Not as much as when she wore full armor, but if someone tried to gut her, they’d find the passageway into her body was not quite so easily claimed.

“You all right? How many fingers am I holding up? What did Chris do….concussion, yeah?”

Chastity snapped her fingers, and a small, intense flame bloomed at the end, providing a light for her to check Toinette’s pupils.

Toinette was having a very hard time focusing straight ahead.

“Uh, yeah. I'm good.” Julius had said something about this. She'd fallen into another world, clearly, and this was one of the incredibly attractive natives. She had an adventure to go on! He'd advised her on… what was it?

It was probably “Don't do anything.” Killjoyyyyy.

Fae ancestry compelled her to be suave, despite her messy hair, clothing more fit for Ibiza (the t-shirt was not protecting her against the elements) and bleary expression. She tried a smile, or something like that.

“Can I get a name for my beautiful saviour?” Toinette instantly realised that an intense migraine was not a good tool for chatting up the ladies.

“Smooth. Like sandpaper.”

Chastity peered around.

“Hold that thought...just want to make sure that you dropping out of the sky didn’t attract anything bad.”

“Like who?”

Chastity began clicking her tongue as she thought.

“I think...three things that might want to eat you if given a chance? Yeah, three. Four if a wyrm comes wandering along, but that’s...not a good chance? I think? I dunno where they like to go, I usually went to them...look, you’re clearly not okay dokey. I better get you back to Gaudyns. God I miss Chris being around for the doctor stuff...now I have to remember what alleyway has the doctor and which ones have the muggers who want to pry out my teeth…”

Chastity removed the sword from the ground, tapping it on her shoulder.

“Can you walk or do I have to carry you?”

“I can walk!” Toinette scrambled to her feet, swaying a little. The grass spiked on what she now realised was bare feet. Her t-shirt, in the cruellest of ironies, had “EAT ME” emblazoned in very large font on the front. She glared down at the betrayer for a moment, then back up at Chastity.

“Uh, I’m Toinette. Hi, again!” She made the effort to look chipper. “Where is this place? Uh, guessing I'm not at Randy Avalon's Casinotel.”

“No. You’re outside the city...town...PLACE, of Gaudyns. Part of the principle...place...they changed last year...I don’t know their darn name. The bigger town that looks after this area and that town! Except they don’t. Country of Ionis? Ringing any bells?”

“Nope!” Toinette resolutely kept her eyes on the stranger’s face.

“Continent of Anacorum? World called a few things, I call it Earth?”

“I've been on AN Earth. Just came from there! But nope, no bells ringing here.”

“An Earth?...the name Kobber ring any bells?”

Toinette grinned. “That's the one!”

“...well shit. Where’s that redhead then?”


“No clue. Last I remember, I was doing a line of shots as long as the bar. Then here I am!” Toinette shrugged. “Shit happens.”

“No shit.”

Chastity again tried to check for general head injuries, before giving up on the basis she had no idea what she was doing.

“You must have come along after we left. My friends and I hung out with the Kobbers last year or so...by crossing worlds like you did. But we did it on purpose. Wonder if that’s why...never mind. Let’s get into town before some Warmfangs wander along looking for an easy meal.”

“Sure. Lead the way!”

“...I better walk beside you in case you fall over. Or barf. I don’t want you barfing on me. It sucks.”

Toinette bit back a million innuendos and shrugged. “Fine. But if I barf, you being barfed on is, like, the least of your problems.” And she took up a steady walk beside Chastity, looking around to take in her surroundings.

“You listed, like, a million monsters that wanna eat me. Uh, how bad are we talking?”

“Nothing I can’t cook.”

“Nice.”

They walked in silence for a while.

“Still not got a name, bee tee dubs.”

“Chastity.”

Toinette turned and looked Chastity up and down.

“...I don't believe you.”

“That is my name.”

Toinette opened her mouth, thought about it, and closed it again.

“Fair 'nuff.

“You can call me something else if you want.”

“Nah, 's cool. My actual name is Ti Far Yon, but nobody remembers that and Toinette's more exotic anyways.”

“Yeesh, who named you, a fancy empty food store?”

“My parents. They musta ran outta names at child four hundred and twenty six.”

Now it was Chastity’s turn to look Toinette up and down.

“I suspect you are full of stories. But let’s get you bedded before we do any more talking. Oh yeah, and if we get into town and anyone yells angrily at me, duck and cover.”

Toinette, who'd perked up immensely at the word “bedded”, just nodded. Then she frowned.

“Wait, who's mad at you?”

Chastity paused, and then started counting on her fingers.

“....about half the town.”

“... Mostly husbands?”

“Very funny.”

---

The bed was...actually pretty shitty. Stuffed with straw and the mattress, while clean, was patched and scratchy-itchy. And the pillow was one step up from a stone.

“This is a disappointment.” Toinette tried not to look glum. She failed.

“It’s a backalley doctor. Be lucky you’re not sharing the room with horses and goats. But don’t worry. Crappy place aside, the guy gets the job done. Better than me anyway. We should know if something is wrong. You said something about killer barf?”

Toinette blanched. “Um… how do I put this… I'm made outta stardust. If I vomit on you, you'd dissolve. Or mutate horribly, if you're unlucky.”

She saw Chastity’s face. “...I probably shoulda lied about that. Sorry.”

“I prefer honesty. Except when I hate it. So don’t tell me if you think I look fat. Now, what else should I know?” Chastity grabbed a chair and swung it around, sitting backwards on it.

“I'm… a Fae? From, like, a weird space world. I like vodka and girls with long hair. I can do magic. Also, I'm incapable of seeing people as people.”

Toinette looked at Chastity. “You got any magic protection on ya?”

“That’s what they told me these were.” The woman indicated her necklaces. “So were these but after I modded them they might not work so well.” The gem pattern ‘bra’. “Now what was this about people not being people?”

“Good. You'll need it.” Toinette thought about sitting up, but didn't bother. “ Now, uh, I guess it's story time. You got a moment? I'm not great at stories.”

“Neither am I, so you’re in good company.” Chastity flipped the chair around and crossed her legs, drawing one of her swords. “Go ahead and talk, I’m just going to sharpen Math fab Mathonwy.”

Toinette winced.

“Once upon a time, there was a king. He had a painting of his dead wife. It was rad. It was like, six feet tall. Really colorful. He was a cheery king.”

“He was also a dumbass. He invited a Fae Duke around. Duke sees the painting and goes ‘I gotta have it.’ King goes ‘What, are you high? You’re not having it.’ Duke gets mad and storms out.”

Toinette turned over. “That night, a Fae snuck into the castle, stole the painting, and brought it back to the glen. The Fae marvel over the colors. They’ve not seen anything like it.”

“They burn it, because they think it’ll burn the same colors as the paint. It doesn’t, because Fae are also dumbasses. Then they got mad and blamed the king, who by now was the saddest man to ever live ever. Then they declared war on him.”

A moment of silence. Then Toinette’s glum look slipped away like oil in water, revealing a cheerful smile.

“So, how was your week?”

“That doesn’t explain the barf mutants. Sorry, that issue just really struck me.”

“Astra’s a bitch.” Toinette sat up. “Hey, is there anything to drink around here? Apart from whatever medicines I’m sure I’m gonna have to swallow.”

“Ya mean, water?”

“...Sure.”

“You don’t mean water.”

Chastity reached down and unzipped her boot, withdrawing a small, thin metal flask.

“Now, I wouldn’t drink this straight, because we don’t know…”

Gulp. Grabbed. Gone.

“...and I didn’t even finish my sentence. I’ll just be over here now.” Chastity scooted the chair backwards.

Toinette burped and tossed the flask back. “Nice. Any more?”

“...That would flatten most men twice your size.”

“We’re built tough.”

“...all the same, you should get some rest. I need to check my sources. Do some cleaning, in a few ways. You need to stay here. Oh, and if anyone asks, you don’t know me.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not wives after me. It’s pieces of shit. And this is my turf and they don’t get to squat all over it.”

“Sure.” Toinette shrugged. “Not like I’m going anywhere.”


She waited until Chastity’s footsteps were no longer audible, then hopped out of bed. Haha, like hell. New world, new stuff to see and do! Let’s goooooo.

The wardrobe caught her eye first. Chastity’s outfit had been great, fantastic, awesome, and she wanted to see if the rest were like that. Plus, she wasn’t gonna stay in this t-shirt and jean shorts combo forever. She was gonna get in character! She had to fit in if she was gonna make it here.

She flung open the wardrobe doors.

There was a lot of leather, and chainmail. Not in the sense of there being a vast quantity of it, but more in the sense that that was the main component. The items themselves looked more like swimwear that was worn by rich people with hidden tastes, or by comic characters from a certain era. There were a few extra accoutrements, here and there, but the majority was from the world’s most dangerous underwear catalogue. Toinette whistled in approval.

There was also a box. Toinette opened the box. It had many things in it. Toinette closed the box and made a mental note of it, in mental red pen, with many mental lines under it.

Then she picked out a snazzy leather number and got to work.

Ride

"What is it you want?"

Vince turned. He couldn't read anything in his sifu's face. The question had come from nowhere.

"...What?"

The old woman sighed. "Young Vince, when people come to my dojo, they all want different things." Her round face was sliced in two by the shadows cast from the sunset, making her folorn smile unnering to Vince. "The tourists want to experience our 'culture', whatever that is. The kids want to be their heroes on television. The young men want to impress the young women, and the young women want the young men to go away. But I have trained you for two months and you have not said anything to me about why you are here."

"I pay you." Vince looked around the open air dojo, a palm-leaf roof on wooden struts that gazed out over the ocean. "Six bucks a week to learn how to defend myself. Isn't that enough?"

For an answer, she swept out a leg. He almost managed to keep his balance this time.

"Money doesn't fuel people, Vince." Her voice was reproachful but not angry. He'd never seen her angry. "People who only want money aren't people at all. You want something else."

"Yeah, to not get beat up by old ladies." Vince climbed back to his feet, wincing. "Can I go now, or do I have to tell you my life story to get away?"

She looked disappointing in him. "Very well."

He wondered if he should have answered. Then he wondered if he had an answer that would have been good enough anyway.

---

The store didn't like him doing this.

Oh, it wasn't concerned for his safety. It could look after itself. It had figured out how to blend in on the new island, although so far it had trouble understanding that people on holiday didn't want to watch anime. No, what it was concerned about was that he wasn't doing it properly.

The neon green chunk of plastic rested on the bed behind him as he changed.

The vacation was doing him good. He'd gotten some muscle tone and lost a bit of weight, and he no longer looked like a zombie. So that was an improvement.

He hefted the ice hockey chest and shoulder pads over his head.

No, it wanted him to use the machine. Do the jingles. Say the catchphrases. But he wasn't gonna do that. He was his own person, not a product. Besides, he wasn't really doing this to help people, although it was a nice side bonus.

On went the ski goggles and the bandanna over his mouth.

It wasn't even as if there was much crime on this island anyway.

He picked up the rubber mallet in gloved hands. He looked like he could pass at a con. Ghetto Rider cosplay. Heh.

Vince went out into the night.

Perfection

"Unknown genome. Genetic tampering. Clone activity detected."

Chairman Satoshi Hiro scanned the words on the paper over and over, but they revealed no further meaning to him. Around him, the servers hummed, black egg-shaped monoliths sprouting from the serene skin of the garden. A woman in a kimono polished their surfaces.He regarded the bonsai tree in front of him.

A clone. Loose. With them?

He'd had a tiring day. He'd had to explain to the elder executives, in no uncertain terms, that their plans for the new franchise on Earth 02 would go ahead. NBN's failures were their own fault. Hubris. They had snatched and grasped where they should not have, and suffered swift retribution. Word travelled fast. NBN stock was in freefall. This was their time. Now nobody trusted what they were told on the news, they could exploit their newfound freedom.

And, of course, they didn't desire the same things. NBN needed to own, own, own. But we, he explained, do not. We work in harmony with existing structures.

In other words, he thought, we make our takeovers look good.

Hiro studied the tree. Where was it...

Their offers were much more subtle. After all, what they offered could hardly be called villainous, or sinister. Just methods to remove stress, make the working life easier. Entertainment, too, would be possible. They could introduce the rest later, once they were comfortable with the new ideas presented to them.

The woman came over and poured Hiro a cup of tea. He glanced at the barcode on the back of her neck.

There was the problem of the clone. It had been detected during the Universe of Tomorrow Expo they'd held. The Ancestral Imager attraction had reported erroneous data.

"Unknown genome. Genetic tampering. Clone activity detected."

The words haunted him. If there was cloning on Earth 2, then a sword hung over his neck. He doubted the Kobbers would tolerate the industrial attitude to cloning. This one was special, unique. He would have to... nullify it, somehow.

He would have to be very, very careful.

Hiro found the errant branch and carefully cut it away with the shears. He sat back, examining his work, and nodded in satisfaction.

It could be done.

Prison

It moves. Head, arms, tail.

Dark. Feel. Cold stone, black water. Cannot see. Feels all, everywhere. Cold metal of prison. Has felt the cold metal of prison for countless years.

Feel. Strange. Symbols. Cannot read. Belong to jailors. Push.

Light? No heat. Pressure changes. Moves, pushes, breaks chains, pulls down walls -

"We made them. We couldn't control them, but in our arrogance we made them anyway, much like we made countless others."

Change.

Light. Warm water. Can see. Blue clear waters, color, sun, light.

No chains. No walls.

Freedom!

"What will we do, when it breaks free? It must hate us so much."

It dances, all one hundred of it. Jubilation. No longer a prison. Swim swim swim, breach water, find warm air and sun.

Freedom!

Thoughts turn. Images of fire, stone, metal. Memories? Goals. Feel. Island. Land. Rich. Swim. Take. Gain firestonemetal.

Must build.

"The world will weep..."

Must build. Must grow. Grow strong. Stronger than anything. Stronger than jailors.

Will never be jailed again.

"...tears enough to fill the salt seas."

Plaisir (Collab with Wulf)

It was not the first time Conrad had woken up in a dark room tied to a chair, but it was the first time he’d done so and seen his severed arm dangling in front of his face.

He stared at it blankly. Then he turned his head. Yep. It had been his remaining real arm. He tried to think of a joke to stop himself screaming. He failed. 

“Shut up.”

Something cold and metallic hit him, and stars flashed in his eyeballs. He grunted, realised there was no pain. Turning his head felt weird, but he managed to do so and look at whatever had hit him. It was a synth - in a past life. It had so many exposed joints and extra limbs bolted to its frame that it resembled some kind of decayed insect. It watched him through a single azure lens set into a slab of a head, low between its broad shoulders.

“Not from the Free Machines, I take it,” grunted Conrad.

It hit him again.

“Shut up,” it repeated. Its voice was a bass proclamation.

Conrad shut up. The thing regarded him for a while.

“Your body parts,” it eventually said, “are worth a fortune. Your arm is a trillion Hub credits. Your dual-heart system is a delicacy for the Roth Dominion. The right people would shed the blood of a thousand for a few drops of your own.”

“Then why aren’t I being packed up and shipped out already?”

It hit him yet again.

“Because if you are alive, you are worth twice as much.”

It turned away briefly. Conrad tried to avert his gaze from his dangling arm - he didn’t want to know how it was hung up. Instead, he looked to his right and saw a thick canopy of iv bags and medical equipment. He started counting all the sedatives he recognised.

“People know I’m here,” He said.

“I don’t care.” Something glinted in the corner of Conrad’s eye, and he glanced over at the largest scalpel he’d ever seen, held in a rusted hand.

“You could ransom me back.” He was getting the feeling this might be a personal issue. “Ekspansa would pay billions to make sure I’m safe.”

The thing shrugged. “Perhaps. Arcturus works in mysterious ways.”
Conrad didn’t bother to correct it. “You know Wulf?”

“Why?” The blue searchlight eye whipped around and blinded him for a second. “Do you expect a rendition of my life story? This is not one of your cartoons.”

“Hey, they’re- “

It hit him across the face.

“Why do you keep doing that?” 

“Your words are, unfortunately, worth nothing, which means I would prefer it if you were silent.” The scalpel came up. “However, your tongue has a potential application in several alchemical recipes. Maybe I should have cut that out.”

There wasn’t a good response to that, so Conrad didn’t bother. The thing grunted in satisfaction and turned away again, fingers stabbing at a very old portable communicator. The click of the keys echoed in the dark space.

“What’s your problem with me?”

The android went deathly still, and for a wild moment, Conrad hoped it had shut down.

“I was a butler droid for Godking Guillaume,” it said. “Then David Wulf shot me in the face. I presume he had a good reason.” It resumed typing. “You can work the rest out.”

Conrad stared, and realised that anyone coming for him was too slow.

“So, revenge then?” he tried.

“No.” the droid sighed. “I am incapable of making value judgements about anybody above a certain level of income. Unfortunately, a hardcoded predilection for… rich living, requires certain measures to be taken.” The scalpel came up again, this time with purpose.

“Woah, woah, wait!” Conrad wracked his brains. “What about, like, the Asimov Laws? Or the Restrictions? Don’t you have those?”

A sick laugh.

“David shot them out of me.”

The scalpel came down, and the wall exploded. A mass of shimmering black shot across his vision and took the scalpel— And his assailant— With it. There was a loud crash, and Conrad’s vision shot towards the opposite side of the room, where the slab-faced android sat in a heap, screen flickering as its eye stared at a dark figure standing before it. Conrad took them in— Form-fit vantablack armor with the faintest shine of karzantium film, like rainbows at an event horizon. The attacker reached up and removed their hood, revealing light brown hair spooled up into a tight bun. They wore small, flat hoops that pulsed with blue light.

“Plaisir,” they said to the droid, and held their arm out. The air shimmered, and a chunky pistol appeared in their hand, glimmering with a chrome-finish. A sharp, black lacquered nail caressed the trigger.

The synth laid down its scalpel. “Tout le plaisir était pour moi,” it said in response.

“Non, j’étais heureux de le faire.” The assailant laughed softly. “By the way,” they said, cocking the hammer, “it’s A’isha Arcturus Wulf. Respect my name and pronouns, you fuck.”

There was a loud bang, and the synth’s screen went dark. A’isha holstered her gun and spun on one foot to face Conrad

“Hola nephew! You uh, shit. You don’t have a bloody arm. Jesus.”

“Yeah, that’s, uh, that’s a problem.” Conrad pulled at his restraints. “Can I get untied?”

A’isha trotted over at a casual pace that made Conrad’s eye twitch. “You kids and your ropes.” There was a rustling and a soft snap, and Conrad felt the pressure on his ribcage dissipate as the ropes fell in his lap. “You know,” she said, twirling a karambit around her finger, “if you just dislocated all your joints and slithered out you would’ve been dandy, lad.”

“I, uh, forgot.” The sedatives were really kicking in now, and Conrad tottered to his feet. “Thanks, Auntie. I owe you, like, a million. A million and one favours. All of them.” He squinted. “Why did you name yourself after a Power Ranger?”

A’isha slapped him across the face, but lightly this time, like being gently flogged with bootlaces. “Wife of the Prophet, you little otaku git. I was a student of hers years ago; brilliant woman she was. God bless her. ‘Sides, used up a lotta good names on my kids this time around. Never should’ve named your cousin Zoe Fatima, C, really gave up some prime linguistic real estate on that move. I mean, I was wasted when I named my kids, sure, but when was I not back then?”

“Yeah, good point.” Conrad looked at his severed arm. “You were always, pretty wasted. Uh, speaking of wasting things, can we reuse my arm? ‘Cause, that’s a pretty clean cut he did.” Everything felt fuzzy. “I want it to go to a good home at least. Not the severed arm… pound… Shit, did he put noxatine in me? He did.”

Then, very gently, he keeled over and fell on his face.

A’isha sighed and looked at her watch. “Damn, I’m gonna be late for that lunch, aren’t I?” She rolled her eyes. “Eh, xe was late on me last time.” The merchant put two fingers against her ear and speed dialed a number on her neural mesh. It rang for a few moments.

“Good afternoon, Empress.”

“Batiĉé, Park. Hey uh, do you mind swinging by twenty third Orkoji Ave in a few minutes? I may have a, uh…” She looked down at Conrad, foaming slightly at the mouth. “Medical emergency.”

“Conrad, ma’am?”

“Bingo.”

The sound of Park suiting up echoed through the phone. “On my way, madame Empress.”

“Bonza, hun. See ya in a flash, hugs and kisses~”

A’isha hung up and shoved the phone back in her pocket. She glanced down again at Conrad, and then to the dead droid in the corner. She sniffed the air.

“Now where was that gyro truck again,” she mumbled to herself, and stepped casually back over the broken wall onto the street outside.

Worth

Nevada Desert, April 2016

The golden figure sat at the crossroads. Next to him was a branch, planted in the ground, A bleached cow skull was tied to it.

"You cannot save them all," it whispered.

"Why not?"

"They are not worth saving."

"What," said the golden figure, "defines worth?"

---

"Fucking imbecile! Get out! Clear your desk!"

The underling - Victoria had already forgotten his name - fled the office. She let out the breath and turned to the window of the office.

Some people, she thought, just did not want to try. They just wanted to coast on by, putting in the barest amount of work. Like that one. He'd been pioneering a new show, the most insipid reality stuff ever. They had thirty channels of that. They'd lost money, and he'd lost his job. It was fine, he'd been wasting time on his phone most days anyway. Worthless idiot. She hated people who didn't even try, who didn't even want to try.

She breathed in, counted to ten, and looked out at the SanSan skyline. Hoppers flitted between the skyscrapers, mirroring her thoughts. It was okay. They could recover. Projected profits from the Fast Food district of their new Franchise City in Mojave would cover it, easily. But she needed cheering up now. Failure made her tetchy. She couldn't handle failure.

It was okay. She had something to take her mind off of it. She pinged her receptionist.

"Get me Jackson Howard," she said.

A few minutes later, he entered. He carried his usual aura of innocence, and his sunny grin and blue eyes calmed her down immensely.

Jackson Howard had worth. He had a mind that wandered into genius entirely by accident, and a personality that only had occasional brushes with negativity. His naivety was a comfort to her, both from a practical and an emotional standpoint. What better pick for the Executive of Child Programming than someone who could still think like one? She put on her best smile.

"Hello, Jackson."

"Hello, Victoria!" Jackson moved like he was about to bound. "What did you need me for?"

"You know the raffle Harpsichord Studios ran? The skeletons won it." Victoria brought up a holopic and sent it floating over to him. "Yes, I know. That place is strange. Anyway, they look pretty marketable and I think we can get a sitcom out of them. A few seasons worth." She didn't mention the bugs - things like that upset him. "Do you think you can make anything with these."

Jackson peered at the image. "Um... Well, they have pretty rounded edges, they don't seem too scary... probably?" He suddenly brightened. "Oh! There's these new learning brains I wanted to try! The ones Haas-Bioroid made available? I think maybe putting them in some dolls will be great! They could respond and give feedback and - "

"Okay, I've heard enough." Victoria clapped her hands together. "You'll get funding. Hop to it!"

"Thank you, Victoria!"

As Jackson practically skipped out of the room, Victoria turned and began to contact his project managers, because someone had to keep their head on around here.

---

"It is greatness of deed." Sand whispered through the skull's eye sockets. "Those who accomplish much in life are of value to others."

"There are those in power who are despised, and those who had power who died because of it. Power and deed are not measure of worth."

The road stretched to the horizon.

"Then it is... goodness." The words sounded harsh.

---

He was dead.

The man stood at the grave. A simple wooden cross. They needed the stone for the abbey.

He'd been there. Always. Since the coach crashed, since they'd reached the hamlet. They'd faced the necromancer together and brought the monster down. They'd shared stories, shared drinks, shared secrets. He couldn't be gone. It wasn't -

"Sean?"

He turned. She was waiting for him. She didn't say anything more.

"Go," he whispered. "I'll be with you soon."

She nodded and left. He turned, ran a gauntlet-clad hand over the wood.

"Goodbye, Dimitri."

He left.

---

"Some are good. Not all."

"Then what do you think worth is?" The skull rattled in the wind. "Who is worth your attention, golden one?"

Julius got to his feet. His armor was dirty and his wings ragged.

"They are all worth saving," he said, "because to judge a person's worth as if they are material goods is wrong."

"Until proven otherwise," hissed the voice.

"No." Julius looked down at the skull, eyes flaring. "There is always a chance. People do not understand that they are important and needed and that others depend on them. They see the miracle that is life around them and they find it dull, or even frightening. Every day they walk in shells, and they never open themselves to others."

The sun beat down upon them.

"Oh. Love." The voice dripped with disgust.

"Yes. The ultimate act of bravery is to reveal your true self to somebody, and to offer to handle the other person's trueness with care and respect. That is the most beautiful and precious thing in the world."

"Love is useless." The skull shuddered. "Love kills. Love can be broken. Love does not inspire greatness, it inspires restriction and mediocrity. Love does not gain power or riches."

"Leonardo da Vinci loved to create. Mozart loved to make music. Love enables greatness. Love has done all of these things and more. And nobody should measure themselves by impossible standards. Love is enough."

"Do you love her?"

Julius paused.

"It does not matter," he said, slowly.

"It does." The skull ceased all movement. "For if what you say is true, then you must not hide yourself in a cage of gold. You must let them know the truth. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon. For what you did and what you have seen must be made known. And when you do, there will be a war. Know this."

Julius nodded.

"Thank you."

"You are welcome. Don't be a stranger. It is lonely here."

The astral knight began to walk, leaving nothing but a bleached cow skull, stuck at an empty crossroads in the desert.