"Sit."
"Woof."
"Paw."
"Woof?"
"…bang."
The little puppy immediately flopped onto his side, legs sticking out like a fallen soldier.
I take this as an absolute win.
A second later, he sprang back up, tail wagging furiously as he ran circles around my legs, occasionally tugging at the hem of my pants as if demanding more attention, more praise, more whatever-it-is that made his tiny dog brain happy.
How did I get roped into this?
Excellent question.
The answer: Rachel asked if I wanted to walk the dogs with her, and I said yes.
Three days had passed since I moved in with her. Friday morning rolled in cold and misty, sea fog hugging the ground the way only a harbor town like Brockton Bay could manage. The streets were damp, the air smelled faintly of salt and diesel, and the leash in my hand was already wet from the dog's enthusiasm.
In that time, I'd fallen into a routine.
Wake up early.
Train this weaker teenage body back into something respectable.
Handle small errands that I only now realized existed, apparently, humans need things like detergent, toilet paper, and dish sponges. Leah had been unexpectedly helpful with that list. I would never tell her that.
Then I'd head to work from noon until night, learning the subtleties of being a barista while also making sure nobody got any funny ideas while I was on the clock. As per the words of my newest boss, I am to crack down on any type of aggressive behaviour with extreme prejudice.
Surprisingly, there had been no pushback from the ABB so far. I half-expected them to come looking for me, but according to Robert, the guys I beat up probably didn't tell a soul. Shame does wonders to people's ability to keep their mouths shut.
On the second day, I also received this:
[FEAT: Became a known strong entity in the eyes of the powers of Brockton Bay
1x Random advantage Gold Gacha Ticket]
Which meant the authorities had finally taken note of Ura-doji.
If Brockton Bay worked anything like Salvador, every gang had someone sitting comfortably inside the PRT, leaking whatever intel came through the official channels. So if the PRT knew, the gangs knew.
Well, except the Empire. They were very likely the ones who spread the information in the first place.
But honestly? I couldn't care less about their little information circles. My attention was on my new job. It bothered me at first that I wasn't paid per fight — I mean per job — but then I remembered this was a normal job. You work a set number of hours, on set days, and get paid based on total hours. A strange concept for someone who previously got paid the moment he dragged a problem out of a building by the throat.
Annoyingly, this also meant I couldn't give Rachel the rent money for another four days.
Normally I would be browsing the markets right now, searching for ingredients to improve my cooking. But when Rachel asked me to join her for the morning dog walk — both for company and to help wrangle any overly aggressive strays — I agreed. Those were the terms for me staying at her place, after all. She seemed pleased. I've learned quickly that Rachel values people who follow through their word.
Fortunately, the dogs were being agreeable today. No fights, no sudden lunges at birds, no escaping into traffic. Miraculous, really.
Which left me here: standing in the middle of a foggy sidewalk, staring down at a three-legged puppy gazing up at me with the biggest, most cosmic eyes I'd ever seen.
I had been trying to teach him tricks for the past two hours.
There had been zero success.
"Still trying?"
"Don't make fun of me," I mutter.
"I will."
"Fuck you."
Rachel snorted, the corner of her mouth twitching upward for half a second before her expression fell back to her usual glower. The fog curled around us as we stood there, watching the dogs roughhouse in the wet grass.
"Are you going to save more?" I ask.
"Yes," she said seriously. Her face was neutral, but her shoulders were set in that stubborn, immovable way of hers.
"You won't be able to save all of them," I said.
The effect was immediate. Her jaw tightened, mad that I brought it up, but didn't seem to direct the anger at me specifically, just angry at the words.
"I know," she snapped. "But that shit doesn't matter. I'll save as many as I can."
"And then what?" I pressed. "Where will you put them? You need somewhere. You won't be able to take care of every dog you save by just putting them on your backyard."
"Shut up!" This time the glare did aim directly at me, in both anger and beneath it a layer of hurt, as if I was putting down her goal of trying to get as many as possible.
"Okay," I said simply. "Then I'll think of something."
She blinked. "…Huh?"
"You need somewhere to put everyone," I said, nodding at the pack currently tackling each other in the mud. They were brighter now, more alive than the starved, trembling creatures I'd seen in that basement. "So, I'll think of something. Maybe buy a dog shelter."
That would take a ridiculous amount of money. But the Gacha had already spat out stranger miracles. And if it didn't give me what I needed, then I'll find another way.
No," Rachel said immediately, the word spat with the kind of disgust people reserve for rotten meat. "Shelters are shit."
I can understand her having problems with dog shelters, since most charities barely receive any money or resources needed for their stated goal; most of the time, the parties in charge of the charity keep the largest part.
I'm guessing that Rachel met a few shelters that didn't really care about the dogs they were advertising as caring. While I don't think all of them are the same, I'm confident enough to say that most are just from seeing the state of the city.
"What if you're the one in charge?" I asked. Her head snapped toward me, the interest in it was obvious, as much as it was the hope trying and failing to disguise itself within her eyes.
"You know how to take care of dogs," I continued. "You'd run it the right way, and people could bring dogs to you. You'd have a place to keep them. On top of everything, you'll have an actual government-supported business, so it should all be legal."
The more I said it, the more the idea took shape. Of course, we'd need licenses, paperwork saying we're qualified, money for food, medicine, space, repairs…
But it wasn't impossible.
Rachel stayed quiet, staring at the dogs but clearly thinking, brow slightly furrowed. Her anger had cooled into contemplation.
Some might question why I'm going so far for a girl that I've only known for all of three days. And I would normally agree with them, if it weren't for the fact that I am now conceptually bound to find myself in the narrative of the world.
For you see, if I do indeed give Rachel a dog shelter, that would have long-standing consequences that would create waves, disrupting the normal path that this world would take, right?
As such, it would constantly feed into my Curse of Interesting Times, right?
Man, I'm so smart that sometimes I scare myself.
I let Rachel mull over the conversation in silence and turn my attention back to the furry menace chewing on my ankle.
"Hand."
"Woof!"
The puppy licked me.
"No, hand."
Another lick. Slobberier.
"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" The little puppy looks into my eyes with wide pupils, tongue flopping out as it rags for breath.
While I'm debating how far I could reasonably throw this tiny gremlin, I catch movement beside me.
"You're not doing it right." Rachel, who was watching in amusement, decided to step in, plopping herself down next to me on the cold grass of the park.
"He doesn't understand what you want from him," she says, nodding at the puppy struggling with his own back legs. "And you're not giving him a reason to care."
I stare at the dumb puppy, idly noting that he was a boy by her words, "How do I do it, then?"
She paused, scowl returning as she thought, "Rumble when you speak," she said, demonstrating it with a soft growl at the back of her throat that sent her voice into a low pitch.
It was strange, but the puppy's reaction was immediate, his attention snapping toward her like she had just flipped a switch.
"Also, stiffen up," she adds. "Being loose like that isn't helping anything."
I make myself become rigid. I don't like it. Every part of me wants to stay loose and coiled, ready in case something happens, but I force the springiness out of my shoulders anyway. It feels unnatural, like I'm locking the safety pin of a gun.
"Be firm about it," she finishes. Then she turns to the puppy, gives a sharp, low command, "Roll!" and flicks her wrist in a clean sweeping motion.
The puppy watches her hand. I can physically feel the cogs in that empty box work to make a connection, then awkwardly rolls once and pops up again, looking ridiculously proud of himself.
"You're amazing," I say before I think about it. Was it even possible for a human being to understand dogs at such a level that they would follow your commands? For a second, I wondered if it had to do with her power, but the words of the book rejected the notion, stating firmly that it was a skill earned from years of living with them and understanding them in ways normal people don't bother learning.
Rachel seemed thrown off by my statement, frowning harder my way, even as a dust of red showed that she was flustered by the compliment.
"Tsk. You try it," she mutters, yanking her attention toward the other dogs. She tries to look focused on them, though I can feel her sneaking glances at me when I go back to focusing on her words.
I look down at the puppy again.
Alright. Strong voice. Clear intent. And a motion that actually matches what I want. I try to put everything she said into the way I stand, the way I breathe. A set of languages spoken through our bodies to achieve a means of nonverbal communication, with a small help from commands.
There's a strange sensation in my chest, almost like something instinctive unfurling, settling into place.
My inner Oni stirs.
"Hand."
Something warm presses against my palm.
Not the puppy's paw.
I blink and slowly raise my eyes. Rachel is staring right back at me, equally wide-eyed, her hand resting on mine like she didn't even think before doing it.
We hold there for a second.
Then she snatches her hand away so fast she nearly trips over herself, face flaring bright red. She bares her teeth in something that looks like a threat but feels more like panic, then spins on her heel and marches off without a word.
I look down at the puppy.
"You got any idea what that was?"
"Woof."
[FEAT: The first steps have been taken to dealing with an unruly bitch!
1x Random Silver Gacha Ticket]
[FEAT: Continue to be a dense ass Protagonist, like seriously, how do you keep doing it?
1x Random Gold Gacha Ticket]
"Huh, I thought you were a boy?"
"…woof." [Translation: You're a fucking idiot.]
I have made a grave mistake with this job, by the way.
Never before has my confidence trembled so violently. Never before have I understood so clearly that I had doomed myself with my own choices.
"Hey, Sammy! Milk coffee for Bryce, please!" Leah chirps the order as she drops a receipt in front of me, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She's in her "uniform, which meant she was just wearing an apron on top of her other clothes.
The mistake is this: Leah, Robert's relentlessly cheerful daughter, mentioned she only worked here part-time to help her dad. I, in my infinite optimism, assumed my hiring meant she'd scale back.
I was wrong. Horribly wrong.
The bar is busy every evening, apparently we're one of the only decent, non gang-affiliated places within walking distance, so she's here almost as much as I am. My shifts start at two or four, depending on the day; hers start the second she sprints here after school and continue until close.
In other words, I now interact with her constantly.
Please, send help.
This is not a joke; the worst part isn't even dealing with her personality. No, the real problem is –
"A—aaagh!" Leah squeals as the tray in her hands starts wobbling. She takes one step backward, another sideways, tangles her own legs, and down she goes—again—catapulting three scalding drinks into the air.
The fourth time this week.
Leah is a catastrophic klutz.
But get this! Only when she's working!
What the fuck?
I stare at the rain of ruined beverages with the defeated resignation of a soldier watching his battalion fall.
"Oh man," she groans from the floor, already scrambling up. "I was so sure I had it this time."
"I wasn't," I say flatly.
"That was pretty close though!" She ignores my words.
"It wasn't." I'm already remaking the drinks out of sheer survival instinct. Behind us, Pritt pauses mid-text, gives off a sigh, and silently goes to fetch the mop and broom she now keeps positioned permanently near the register.
Leah spins toward me, determination reigniting in her eyes like she was reborn from the ashes of her own incompetence.
"Okay! Give me another shot in the field, coach!" She holds her hands out dramatically.
My stare has reached peak levels of frigidness.
"No."
"Eeeeeh?" She deflated, "C'mon, Sammy! I almost got it. I'm sure next time I'll even do a trick with it!"
I pause mid-pour just to look at her properly. She can barely walk in a straight line by herself; the hell is she talking about doing a trick?
"How have you not been fired yet?"
"My dad is the boss." She flashes a peace sign.
"Nepotism at its finest."
It felt good to see the words hit her like a physical blow. Anime world truly made people more expressive, since I doubt someone would react like this in my old world.
"Y-you tried to blackmail my dad!" Was the reply of a coward who has been backed into a corner, so she decides to throw all his cards on the table.
Unfortunately, I flipped the table, since I don't give a damn.
"Skill issue." She sinks again, on her knees, soul leaving her body.
Maybe I should ask Pritt for more slang. She watches bizarre things on her phone, but the vocabulary is surprisingly effective for neutralizing teenagers.
Speaking of her—
I turn toward the only person here I can count on not to catastrophically collapse if left unsupervised. Pritt is leaning against the back counter, completely absorbed in her screen, having forgotten what she grabbed the mop for.
"Oi, slacker. Take this to table seven and come back for the rest—table twelve." I set a latte macchiato on the tray and slide the other drinks a little farther back so she won't confuse them. Again.
"Aye, aye captain." At least look at me when you're talking, brat. At this point, I almost miss the days when Pritt watched me with suspicion from behind the counter; now that she's comfortable, her phone might as well be surgically attached to her. And when she's not on that thing, she's talking to Leah, which is somehow worse.
I load another coffee into the machine and, while it runs, grab the mop and get to work on cleaning off the results of the crash, grabbing everything from the floor where the despair driven Leah is blankly looking at the ground, hands dangling at her side.
I pretend not to see her.
The place is packed tonight, the Friday rush, which means I can hear snippets of nearly every conversation. The bar hums with life at the sound of customers talking and laughing, the murmur of overlapping conversations making listening to anything difficult, but I manage.
Most of it is harmless nonsense, chatter that I don't care about-
"Jack you fucking dog-"
"Have you heard what happened to Levy? That poor girl..."
"Is it just me or is the beer getting worse?"
"Get my mother's name, out your fucking-"
I cut a glance across the room.
The man in mid-scream shuts up instantly and drops back into his seat like someone hit his power switch.
Reputation has its perks.
A reputation that was earned from breaking off multiple fights with extreme prejudice. There was a surprisingly high amount of them, enough to have me thinking it was because of the world having been a webcomic turned anime, making people much more expressive.
With the fight stopped before it could start, I nod lightly and go back, wiping off the cocktail of coffee that was made from the crash.
One of the patrons—someone I've never seen before—leans toward his friend while trying (and failing) to be subtle.
"Hey, what's the deal with the new kid? Everyone looks scared to death of him."
"You haven't heard? That's 'Flatline' Sam."
[FEAT: On top of having a cape name, gain another alias to your civilian identity!
1x Random Silver Gacha Ticket]
I hate that stupid nickname.
The other guy squints at me. "Wait, that's Flatline? Huh. I thought he'd be… bigger." Thank you for reminding me of what I lost. Truly.
"Don't say that to his face unless you want to go flatline yourself," his friend mutters.
"Damn… that's rough. I mean, he looks young. How does a kid get a name like that?" His buddy keeps stealing glances at me, and since they are not subtle at all, its actually difficult eavesdropping on them while cleaning up Leah's mess.
"Well, they say his face never changes. Blank as a corpse. And if you annoy him enough, he'll make you match it." What kind of stories are circulating out there? I've only killed Hookwolf. A single neo-Nazi dogman.
His buddy shoots me another nervous glance, this time much more wary.
Good, it makes my job easier if people are too afraid of starting a fight in here, keeps the peace.
And peace is exactly what this bar lives off. I've learned a lot since I first started: the Night's Rest is neutral ground. No matter the grudges, gang wars, or ongoing feuds outside, when you step inside these doors, you leave that behind. Robert enforces this neutrality aggressively to send a message. Which is why the place stays packed; everyone likes a breather from chaos.
Finally done with the clean-up, I dump the broken glasses in the bin out back. We have an absurd supply of extras stacked on the shelves. Considering Leah, it's actually a miracle we aren't running low.
When I return to the main room, the first thing I see is Leah.
Still standing over the battlefield of her own making.
Still staring at it like it betrayed her.
I send her a long, exhausted glare.
Pritt finally looks up from her phone, noticing her emotionally ruined friend, and sighs like she's the one who had to deal with that.
"Sam," she calls, walking over with her hands tucked into her apron pockets, "stop bullying Leah. She's bad enough at the job without you kicking her while she's down."
Leah lets out a broken little whine at the same moment, shoulders folding inward as if Pritt's words physically struck her. She crumples further into the ground.
"First, don't call me Sam," I cross my arms. "Second, some people don't just fail to add to the workload; they go into the negatives. She's one of them."
Leah immediately bursts into deep-seated despair. "Whyyyyy—!?" She latches onto my sleeve like a drowning sailor clinging to driftwood. "I swear I tried so hard this time! I even concentrated! Sammy—Sammy, listen to me!"
She starts shaking me, trying her best to get my attention as I look away from her. I don't acknowledge her at first, she's practically harmless to me, I dealt with a lot more dangerous things than a high school girl with noodle arms.
But then she shakes me harder, throwing her weight with it.
My hand slips on the coffee I'm holding, the cup lurching.
That gets my attention.
I don't care if a building falls on me, but dropping a coffee I just made? That's unacceptable. That's a line.
I can't neutralise Leah, she's the daughter of my boss and as such someone of equal standing to a VIP. If I can't move her, then I need to move the coffee.
With the reflexes of someone who refuses to redo a drink, I twist, slide the cup onto the counter in a single motion, and immediately lose my footing as Leah tugs too far.
We both go down.
Hard.
But I don't focus on the pain of hitting the floor with my back, because Leah lands on top of me, and her face slides directly into my dick as she skids forward.
Damn you, Lucky Pervert.
[FEAT: Have a girl grind her face on your penis!
1x Advantage Random Silver Gacha Ticket]
I close my eyes. I hate this fucking thing.
Leah freezes against me. For a moment, she goes very still, and then—
She inhales.
Deeply.
Her eyes widen, pupils dilating in real-time. "Wh… what—what is that smell…?"
Right. Musk. This just keeps getting better and better.
"Get off me," I say flatly.
She scrambles away so fast she nearly trips again, hands flying to her burning face. She points at me like I'm some kind of war crime. "W–why the flip do you smell so good?!"
I blink. "Flip?"
Pritt snorts. "That's your first instinct? Not 'sorry for headbutting his crotch'? Pervert." She coughs delicately into her fist.
"I'm NOT!" Leah squeaks, face now the exact shade of a supernova.
Gacha, this is all your fault. Fix this shit.
Rolling for my silver tickets.
[Schrodinger's cat]
|Common Familiar|
A regular-looking cat, but in reality it is the Schrodinger's cat, being able to teleport freely as long as it is not being observed and being immortal as it comes back to whenever its corpse is not observed. Install Card Modification: Ally now has Schrodinger's cat power-set.
Wow, I can now give someone functional immortality? You know, I feel like the ability to make someone immortal should be much rarer than just Silver, but what do I know?
[Literacy]
|Uncommon Skill|
You know how to read effectively, you'd be shocked at how little people possess this skill. You know all common languages and mundane languages of the world you are in, and are very skilled at reading books and grimoires, allowing you to read them much faster and digest the information inside of them better.
…I, is, is this the first roll where I am genuinely thankful for the Gacha?
I was never able to read properly, in fact I needed help from Robert to sign my documents since I can barely write anything, much less my name.
I can now read any language, I can now write anything I want with the most comprehensive words that would leave people shocked.
…okay, maybe this Gacha thing isn't so bad.
Ugh, almost threw up in my mouth. I just can't thank Bob even when he does nice things.
Use my silver advantage now.
[Efficient Physique]
|Uncommon Trait|
Your body is incredibly efficient, you are naturally able to digest and gain more energy from breathing, eating and sleeping. In addition, abilities consume slightly less energy to use.
Or
[Glock]
|Trash Item|
A gun, the old reliable Glock 19, simple, easy to use, easy to handle, and will work for most situations where you will simply need a basic handgun. You get a magazine for it every 24 hours.
Without a second thought, I pick the Glock and feel it settle within my chest, ready to be called at a moment's notice
{…}
What? I haven't gotten my hands on a piece for almost a full week now; I'm going through withdrawal. In my old life, I almost never walked around without some type of gun, and while it was kind of redundant to carry one around when I could turn into a Calamity, I just liked guns.
Stop judging me and roll the gold one.
[Gathering Swarm]
|Uncommon Familiar|
Hollow Knight - A swarm of bugs made of light that are incredible at gathering things, you simply need to think of what you need gathered and the Swarm will do it with great efficiency, picking up all loose change in a city block, picking up someone's wallet from their pocket, picking out all trash from an area, picking apart someone's corpse and much more. They individually do not have much strength, but are capable of lifting 5kg individually. The more concentration you have, the more bugs the Swarm makes. The more energy you have, the more bugs you can have out at once. Install Cards Modification: Ally can now call upon the Swarm at will.
For some reason, something in my soul is telling me to never give this to a certain neglected, bullied girl, cause I will surely start the apocalypse if I do so.
Weird.
Last one, give me something good.
…I now understand gamblers.
[Bell Gargoyles]
|Uncommon Familiar|
Darksouls - A pair of powerful gargoyles that tower over the average man, wielding supernaturally sturdy weapons. One is capable of breathing out fire, and the other, lightning; they have superhuman physiques strong enough to shatter walls with their blows. As your energy levels increase, you can summon more gargoyles to serve under your command. Install Card Modification: Allies will not change, but will have the power-set of the Bell Gargoyles, can currently gift this card up to 2 people. Increases number with use.
Or
[Bloodless]
|Uncommon Trait|
Bloodloss who? You don't bleed like they do, even if your body is drained of most of its blood, as long as there is a cupful left you won't feel its effect. If you are a vampire with this trait, you won't suffer the need for blood.
Bloodless is kind of useless in my hands. With my Oni transformation, I will die from wounds before I die from blood loss, and if I am in a spot where I'm dying from blood loss, then having this ability won't help the situation I would be in.
Bell Gargoyles it is.
…I'm getting an awful lot of Familiars to give to people, but I have yet to find anything to do with them. Should I just start handing them out?
Hmm, I'll think about it later.
Deciding I'm done with that thought process, and ignoring the still bickering girls, I grab the saved coffee, straighten my apron, and turn toward the tables when something catches my attention.
In the corner, the small old television behind the bar flickers from a sports recap to breaking news. The volume is low, but the captions and anchors make the tone clear:
Violence between the Empire and the ABB has sharply increased. Several clashes in the last twenty-four hours. The PRT and Protectorate have yet to issue a formal statement. Investigation ongoing.
Ah, so the PRT have yet to make Hookwolf's death public knowledge. I'm guessing that most of people already know, just from the fact that the Empire won't shut up about it.
[FEAT: Incite a gang war while leaving scot free!
1x Random Silver Gacha Ticket]
…How is a girl accidentally grinding her face into my crotch worth the same reward as making two gangs try to kill each other?
Right. Bob is horny. Never mind.
The news cycle had been chewing on Ura-Doji nonstop. Which was incredible since they didn't have anything on me, not even a photo. The only reason they even knew was thanks to a few members of the Empire leaking the encounter, and now people are asking if the ABB got a new member, because obviously the Japanese mythically inspired cape is in cahoots with the Asian gang of the Chinese Dragon.
The Empire, being the Empire, publicly blamed the ABB for Hookwolf's death. The ABB didn't deny it, taking the credit.
Behind me, Leah and Pritt have moved from shouting to actual physical combat. I'm not sure who escalated first, but both currently have hands tangled in each other's hair like gremlins fighting over a shiny object.
"You're just mad because you act like a brat on purpose!" Leah accuses, voice cracking with righteous fury. "You WANT someone to dominate you!"
Pritt sputters so hard she almost chokes on her own outrage. "I—WHAT—no I don't! Don't say weird things while customers can hear you!"
Several customers are, in fact, blatantly watching.
I look away before either can accuse me of something.
Instead, I turn to Robert, who's watching the chaos with an expression that could be carved out of marble. I now understand why they call him Iron. It was hard to picture anything that could shock the man.
"Should we be on the lookout for ABB retaliation?" I ask quietly. "I did stomp a little dirt on their name."
Robert doesn't even pause in his counting. "Like I said, kid, probably not. No gang member wants to admit they got their ass kicked by a kid." He tilts his head slightly toward me. "They'll try to handle it themselves, so be on the lookout for them; they'll be gunning for you."
I grunt in agreement.
A yelp draws my attention back to the employees' corner, where Leah now has both arms wrapped around Pritt's waist, trying to drag her down, while Pritt is half-standing, half-kicking, muttering threats about ripping Leah's extensions out (which Leah does not have, but details are irrelevant to war).
"Should we do something?" I ask.
Robert finally looks up at me.
"…Do I look like an idiot?"
Fair enough.
I return to making coffee while the two girls reenact a nature documentary on territorial disputes. A couple of customers cheer them on. One man records on his phone. Another quietly places a tip in the jar as if bribing me not to intervene.
I take it.
What? Money is money.
AN: This is just a slice of life chapter, showing Samuel living calmly; it should start to pick up the pace soon. Mostly because, little by little, he will become the unofficial leader of the Neutral Zone
Thank you for reading, hope you like it!Last edited: 25 Apr 2026 Like ReplyReport Reactions:Monkey D. Rio, Creed56, earihlgul and 1,256 othersPassingBy28 Nov 2025NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks Chapter 7 - Shopping trip, except the curse got bored and added chaos NewView content6 Dec 2025Add bookmark#137PassingByProfessional GoonerJoined25 Jun 2023Messages116The house was quiet in that way it only got at night, when the pups were too tired to cause trouble, and the city outside stopped growling. I set the pan back on the stove, the smell of chicken and garlic rising with the heat. Fried rice wasn't complicated, but I'd gotten better at it—enough that the colors looked right and the pieces sat in the pan exactly how I wanted them. Going from not knowing how to boil water to this felt like a huge leap, even if in the grand scheme, it wasn't much.
One of the pups nosed against my ankle, sniffing for fallen scraps. I nudged him away with a foot before he could test his luck. Rachel loved them, but even she didn't want them sick from eating onions or anything else in here.
The back door creaked. Rachel stepped in from the yard, boots muddy, shoulders squared like she'd been arguing with the world again. She stopped the moment she saw me standing at the stove.
"I thought you worked until midnight," she said. Her voice wasn't accusing, just surprised, thought Rachel was also sharing the tone he now knew as 'caught with your hand on the cookie jar.'
"Boss let me off early," I answered, tapping the pan to keep the rice from sticking. "Dinner'll be ready soon."
Nothing else came from her. Just quiet, which of itself wasn't strange. It was strange, however, how I could hear her fidgeting in place.
When the silence stretched long enough for the chicken to finish browning, I finally turned. She stood halfway between the door and the kitchen table, jaw tight, hands at her sides. It was the look of someone bracing for impact.
"Rachel?"
She exhaled once, sharply. "We won't be able to eat together tonight." The way she said it felt like she didn't know why it bothered her. "Job came up. Don't know when I'll be back."
I held her gaze. "Will you be in danger?"
That made her bristle, chin lifting the way it always did when pride jabbed at her ribs. "I can take care of myself."
"I know you can," I said evenly. "But that isn't what I asked."
Her shoulders twitched. I could see the anger she was fighting against to answer me properly, and I felt happy to see she would restrain herself just to answer me. "Yes," she muttered.
Maybe I should sound commanding more often? Rachel seemed to follow my words if I did, even If she turned red in anger.
I closed my eyes for a breath, weighing the words that came next, then opened them again. "You're strong. You'll come back."
She answered with a quiet noise that wasn't quite agreement but wasn't disagreement either, then turned away with quick steps, obviously creating distance, believing the conversation to be over.
I watched her disappear upstairs before turning back to the stove. The pups followed her halfway, yipping for attention that was given in the form of quick scritches, then circled back to me, hoping something had fallen while they weren't looking. I shifted them away again with my leg, finished seasoning the rice, and packed part of it into a container before it cooled too much.
Rachel's footsteps returned, heavier now with the gear she'd strapped on. She came down in her costume, face unreadable until she noticed the bag on the counter. Inside lay the container—rice in one section, chicken in another, and vegetables in a third.
She stared like it was about to grow teeth and jump her.
"What's that?" she asked.
"It's for you."
"For me?" The confusion in her tone tugged at something old in my memory, someone handing me food when I had nothing, asking the same question because I couldn't imagine receiving something without debt attached.
Granted, it had been attached at the time, tying me further into the gang, but I wouldn't learn that for years to come.
I nudged the bag toward her. "Hunger is the enemy. Eat to fight it, and grow strong from it."
Rachel didn't look at me, not directly. Her fingers brushed the handle of the bag like she wasn't sure she was allowed to touch it.
It was quite funny. Bitch was a wanted criminal, with murders under her activities, a feral, rough-edged girl who commanded monsters, and here she was, unsure of how to react to a gesture she didn't know how to process.
"…Why?" she finally asked.
I didn't answer right away. My gaze dropped to her hands, scarred knuckles, dirt under the nails from playing and training with her dogs, yet her hands were steadier than most men I'd fought. Rachel was a girl who spent all of her money on her dogs, almost reaching the point of neglecting herself for them.
Rachel was a girl who knew hunger.
Hunger had played a large part in my childhood. Hunger for food drove me to steal, hunger for safety drove me to strength, and hunger for challenge drove me through more battles than I can count.
Hunger was an old ghost. Most people didn't understand what it meant to grow up counting the days between meals and pretending the ache was normal. I didn't realize until I was older that it wasn't something you were supposed to live with, that you could simply eat until the pain stopped.
I walked towards Rachel, ignoring her question.
So, at least –
"And this," Within his hands, a card appeared, beautifully silvered, within it the picture of a great wolf, fur dark as night, flames seeping through its maws, "is a gift."
There was no need to think about which card I wished to give her, after all, it's almost as if the card itself was pulsating with happiness at the thought of connecting with Rachel.
…are Install Cards sentient?
Bah, who cares?
The air rippled. A thin glow rose from my palm, gathering into form. Metal solidified out of nothing, silvered edges, a polished face, and an illustration of a wolf bigger then the trees surrounding it, bigger than any real creature had the right to be. Its fur was pitch-dark, flames licking out from between its teeth.
Rachel seemed mesmerized by it. I could see in her eyes as they brightened. The light around the card matched such brightness, then burst into a soft scatter of sparks. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of small motes circled her in slow orbits. They brushed against her skin, sank through her clothes, and vanished into her like she was drinking them in.
She inhaled sharply, hands flexing at her sides.
When the last ember faded, she looked down at herself, then at me. "What was that?"
"My power," I said. "It's more than what you've seen so far. I guess you can say I can also transform other people into monsters if they wish," I leaned back against the counter, watching her reaction, "If you're ever in danger, call the name of the card. It'll answer you, allowing you to tap the power contained within it."
Rachel blinked. Once. Twice. She looked stunned in a way I hadn't seen before, thrown completely off-balance.
"Why?" she whispered.
I opened my mouth, ready to give her an easy line—some half-truth. "…Well, you gave me a place to—"
"Bullshit." Her voice cracked like a whip. She stepped closer, eyes sharp, breathing just a little too fast. "Letting you crash here isn't the same as—this." She jabbed a finger toward the container of food. "Or cooking for me." Another jab. "Or walking with the dogs and me." A third jab, right to my chest. "Or giving me… whatever the hell that was!"
Her face flushed with frustration, but her pupils were blown wide with something else. Heat. Confusion. Want. She didn't even seem to realize it, and I could barely understand the surge of emotion fluttering through her eyes.
"Tell me why you're doing all of this," she demanded.
I didn't answer right away. Her question punched deeper than it should have. She wasn't wrong. Everything she listed was true. I didn't have to do any of it; hell I started doing this in hopes of using her exposure to feed my Curse.
It wasn't like me to get entangled, to open doors that didn't need opening.
So why her?
Why this girl I'd known for less than two weeks?
I searched inside for logic, but found myself running into a great lack of it. So I reached a new conclusion, one I couldn't help but internally scoff at even as it presented itself to be the only choice.
"…We are the same," I said at last.
Rachel's breath caught.
"We both had shitty lives," I continued. "We both clawed our way out. Got stronger because of it." My gaze drifted to the knife on the cutting board, still slick with the sheen of chicken fat. It reminded me of the blades I'd used for far worse things.
"And somewhere along the way… I guess I started thinking of you as a friend."
Heat crawled up my neck. I didn't blush often, but the admission felt like saying something dangerous out loud, like naming a weakness.
Maybe I'd been using the Curse of Interesting Times as an excuse—pretending my choices weren't choices. Pretending this wasn't something I wanted.
To care is to risk loss.
To love anything is to open a wound.
But even knowing that, I'd stepped closer anyway to her. Am I that starved for any kind of relationship?
{…}
…that's rhetorical, don't answer that.
Risking a glance at my landlady, I witness as Rachel stared like she wanted to lunge at me, Something flashing through her face that I didn't know how to read, I wrote it off as embarrassment and looked away to give her space.
She cleared her throat, voice lower than before. "What's it named?"
It took me a second to understand. "The card?"
She nodded once.
A small smile tugged at my mouth. The name was fitting, almost obvious; it was thus perfect for her.
"Hellhound."
Rachel snorted.
[FEAT: Gain your very own first friend, someone you can count on in thick or thin of places!
1x Random Gold Gacha Ticket]
The mall was louder than I expected. There was bright light filtering through high glass panels, overlapping conversations bouncing off each other, creating a static of sound, and the sheer amount of people going about their days, creating a veritable flood of people. It was very different than Salvador; people moved with tension in their shoulders and knives hidden in their pockets, always staying wary of anyone who came too close. Here, despite Brockton Bay having parahumans who could level buildings, people walked casually, drifting from storefront to storefront like they had forgotten what real danger tasted like.
Or maybe Brocktonites were just good at ignoring dangers.
This analysis was brought to me from old habits, such as scanning any area I find myself in.
A man sitting in a public bench tapping his phone, broad shoulders and calloused fingers, it spoke of hard labour, if he were to lunge, the safest angle to break his knee would be from his right side. An older woman walking past with a stroller, no obvious threat, but I made sure to catalogue in case an explosive was strapped to it. A teenager with a backpack that looked stuffed to the brim, a few papers peeked out, schoolbooks then, if he swung that at me I'd catch the strap and pull him into an elbow drop.
This all came automatically, the act so natural it might as well be breathing.
Hmm, is this it?
A quick glance at the paper slip in my hand to check if I was right. Thanks to Linguistic Skill, I could now read it without any difficulty and compare it to the clothing store before me.
I tugged a bit at the collar of my shirt, still one of Rachel's. Her clothes were good, but wearing them was starting to feel worse since my body was beginning to show signs of development, finally getting a bit more muscle in my frame.
A group of teenage boys walked past, fastest way to neutralize is through the one in the outer circle-
Today was my day off, Sunday, and also the day I got paid.
Fuck yeah.
Time to blow all my savings on basic needs now, ugh.
After some training on how to make an English breakfast for both Rachel and I – more like an English breakfast for me, and then putting everything away for her when she finally woke up, she had a very late night yesterday - I decided that it was time to get some clothes.
The mall itself wasn't bad. Customers at the bar had recommended this place, especially Bryce, since the guy wouldn't look out of place in a homeless shelter. Even Jennifer – his girlfriend who has him by the balls – backed up his recommendation. It was a bit weird to have a man know where to buy fashion, and not his woman, but what do I know? My senses are five years out of date, and the only woman I regularly interacted with in my old life was prostitutes or rival gang members trying the classic honeypot angle.
A woman came closer, she was clutching her purse tightly, a weapon? In that case, slap away the limb before closing in, grapple and-
In Salvador, it was rare to see a woman in a gang, sexism was rampant, and it was obvious that women were at the lower end of the totem pole in terms of manpower to outfit the gangs with.
I also understand why. I almost died several times in my past life, more than I can count. On the other hand, I can count how many times I almost died from women, and that number is seven. Most of the time, it was through either poisoning or trying to shiv me in the back after a night together.
Here, though, with superpowers in the mix, the divide felt infinitely smaller. Superpowers obviously did not care about gender or muscle mass. A tiny girl could rip a car in half, just like a teenage boy could melt concrete. It made this world strangely progressive, even if it gained a lot of bigger problems in the process.
A girls walked out of the store, for some reason she kept glancing at me, planning to strike? Then-
Huh, halfway through observing everything, I realised something else: I was finally used to having two eyes again. Depth perception no longer felt like guessing. My steps landed exactly where I intended. My hands moved with precision I hadn't felt in years. It was comforting to reacquire a weapon you thought you'd lost forever.
If there is one thing I'm grateful for when returning to the age of fifteen, it is gaining my left eye back. It had been a bitch and a half to learn how to live with only one and double the trouble to compensate for it in the field.
Enough thinking. Clothes first.
Fashion, unfortunately, was a subject I had less experience with than quantum physics. I stared at mannequins wearing combinations of fabric that I didn't understand. Why the hell would I wear a black sweater over a white shirt? And there were so many styles highlighted by the boards to indicate where each article could be found.
…did anyone actually know what any of this meant?
Whatever, I did what any sensible man would in my situation: grabbed whatever seemed durable and cheap, not caring for style, or if the colors matched up. If it fit, it worked.
"Damn, you buying for a catalogue?"
I shifted the pile enough to see the source: a blonde woman leaning on a nearby rack, arms tucked casually under her chest. She seemed like she could be older than me by a few years, but something about her disposition knocked a few numbers down, and had the confidence that came from knowing you could draw eyes simply by existing.
As she should, because I don't think I have seen someone as beautiful as her before. Full lips, gleaming blue eyes, a beautiful cascading river of gold for hair, with hips and legs for days, while also sporting a bosom to make wives cry in envy.
Back in Salvador, she would definitely be regarded as a prostitute walking around with that little clothing.
Something else drew my attention, however. She was trained, defined legs, and toned arms hidden beneath her clothing. There was a confident air around her, born from one's strength, and seeing no reason to hide it.
Hmmm, the words within my soul seemed to grasp at threads of recognition, but they didn't have enough information to work with; that was all I needed to know that the girl before me was too trouble for what she was worth.
And then it clicked.
I hate this fucking curse; can I not go out a single time without bumping into bullshit?
[FEAT: Meet the NAMED CHARACTER [Victoria Dallon]
1x Random Bronze Gacha Ticket]
Spoiler: Victoria Dallon
With the verification from the Gacha, the words finally locked on what they needed. A major character of the original story, who later became the protagonist of the sequel? That part seems muddled, so the words instead tell me how she is a hero.
Glory Girl, the poster child for New Wave, a movement turned hero team that is all maskless. A confident girl with an impulsive streak, intelligent yet unable to completely curb her habit of following through without thinking.
But I honestly ignored everything that the words tried to shove in my head and focused on the important bits.
How do I kill her?
Force Field Generator, invisible and extends a few millimetres over skin and clothes. It can block almost anything within the setting. Strength is primarily generated through the forcefield, capable of deadlifting fourteen tons. Flight not based on forcefield, speed of 80mph. Aura is radiated from her person, inducing emotion of awe and admiration for those who do not fear her, and raw intimidation for those who do. Maximum Aura range of 100 feet.
Hoo? Interesting, so she was completely invincible and strong enough to throw trucks?
An actually invincible foe, Parahumans truly were ridiculous.
Yet I could feel my blood boiling in excitement, the deep laughter of the Oni threatening to burst out of my chest at the chance of engaging with such a strong opponent.
An invincible enemy, I repeat to myself, glee barely contained from leaking into my face at the thought of battling such a thing, plans already being created and discarded within my mind on how I would win, how this fight would go.
Dammit, now I really wanted to figh-
Forcefield requires a recharge for 1 to 2 seconds after receiving a heavy impact. Even a strong enough punch can be enough to trigger recharge.
My inner excitement dies down immediately.
I only need to hit her twice to finish the fight, then. Never mind, damn you, Narrative, getting me so hyped up for bloody nothing.
Also, question: why had meeting Rachel or Hookwolf not triggered this same feat earlier?
{…}
[FEAT: Meet the NAMED CHARACTER [Rachel Lindt]
1x Random Bronze Gacha Ticket]
[FEAT: Meet the NAMED CHARACTER [Brad Meadows]
1x Random Bronze Gacha Ticket]
Cosmic man actually forgot.
Embarrassing.
I returned my attention to the blonde woman whose threat ranking had fallen from 'YES' merely to a 'I could have taken her without powers.'
"These are for me," I said flatly.
She blinked. "…like, you're gonna do something with them?"
"Yes. Wear them."
Her gaze slid from me to the pile of clothing—half of which the cashier was scanning with dead eyes—then back to me. "Why buy so much?"
"I have no clothes."
"And why are they all so ugly?"
"I don't care about fashion."
Her nose wrinkled. "Wow."
I rolled my eyes and shifted the pile again. While it was taking a while to get everything, the line behind me wasn't long, just a couple of people scrolling on their phones. Instead, I matched the cashier's stare as she scanned another hoodie, both of us staring blankly at each other.
"You're new in town?" the blonde pressed.
Why was she still talking? Can't she see that I am in an incredible battle of focus against the cashier?
I made a vague sound. "Who knows?"
She leaned closer, smirking. "'Cause you don't recognize me."
Realising that she won't go away, I mentally sigh.
Looking her directly in the eyes, I let my gaze travel from her hair to her shoes in one slow, unimpressed sweep, and asked, "Should I?"
Her expression tightened at the kick in the pride, lots of pride this one has.
Given who she was, I understood why. Being arguably the most famous member of their movement turned superhero team, she was used to being recognised. If only because of the movement that her family represented, to convince heroes and villains to be held accountable for their actions and go maskless. It had great momentum until one of their own was shot home.
After that, the doctrine collapsed. It was difficult to preach about the movement when the scariest thing people were afraid would happen, did indeed happen.
Now, New Wave was the only major team that stuck to it, and she was unmistakably the emblem of that stubborn idealism.
Also, judging from the conversations I managed to glimpse at the bar, half the city was jerking off to her while the other wanted her autograph.
"I'm kind of a big deal around here," she said, voice edged with strain.
"Cool."
Her jaw dropped a millimeter.
"Cool?" she repeated.
"Yep." I checked the cashier's progress. Two shirts left.
She stared at me like I was an exotic insect. "You seriously don't know me."
Well, I did, but that was thanks to the Narrative, and thanks to the regulars back in the bar who are part of her fan club. But I would shot myself first before I fanned her flames at all.
"You already said that."
"That's—wow. Do you live under a rock? Do you not watch the news?"
"No."
"Social media?"
"No."
"…You at least have a phone."
"No."
Victoria looked actually offended. "How do you survive without a phone?!"
"Easily."
"That's not an answer!"
"It's accurate, though."
She let out a disbelieving laugh. "Okay, then how do you keep in contact with friends?"
"I don't have friends." Oh wait, can he change his answer? Rachel was his newest friend, he accidentally answered no by default.
The blonde blinked. "Right… okay. Fine. What about a girlfriend?"
"No."
"Family?"
I met her gaze with my usual blank expression, making sure to stretch the silence as the answer became obvious.
Victoria's smile wilted, and she winced back, clearly apologetic.
"Ah. Uh—sorry."
"It's fine." I snort. While clearly uncomfortable at her misstep, she rallies herself to put on a confident mask.
The cashier handed me the bagged clothes with a shaky "Have a nice day." I nodded, stepped aside, making my way towards the exit, and Victoria followed me for some god forsaken reason only she would know.
"So, you're… just buying a whole wardrobe at once?"
"It's efficient."
"That's not what efficient means."
"It is to me."
She groaned into her hand. "Are you always like this?"
"Yes."
Victoria groaned again, and yet for some reason, I could tell she didn't intend to step away, as if her presence was unquestionable.
…it reminded me of Leah, and that was not a flattering comparison.
What is it with me and attracting these sorts of people?
[FEAT: Garner the minor interest of Victoria Dallon, without even meaning to!
1x Random Bronze Gacha Ticket]
Fuck you, Bob.
"Why are you following me?" I grouch out, not slowing down or otherwise acknowledging the girl by my side. The mall was busy enough that I had to keep a running count of who drifted in and out of my peripheral vision. Two teenagers by the pretzel stand, weak posture, no weapons bulges. A man lingering by the escalator rail, dominant hand free, watching the crowd too intently. That one I'd break by taking the throat first.
And next to me: the blonde headache.
"Cause I'm thinking." Was her candid reply, still looking at me with thoughtful glances.
"Careful," I said, "you'll hurt yourself."
"Haar-haar." She spoke drily, unimpressed. "Blondes are stupid. Wow. Never heard that one before."
"What does being blonde have to do with you being stupid?" I asked honestly.
She stopped walking for half a step, confusion flickering across her face before blooming into outrage. "Wait, if it's not a blonde joke, you think I just look dumb naturally!?"
"Are you a mind reader?"
"You didn't even deny it?!" Her voice jumped half an octave. She threw me a glare that was sharp enough to bounce off steel, crossed her arms, and let out a theatrical huff. She still kept walking beside me anyway.
Once again, she reminds me of Leah. I should make sure those two never meet.
"You're trying to annoy me into leaving," she accused. Give her a round of applause, everyone. She does understand I'm uninterested.
"How perceptive."
"You're an asshole. You know that?"
"Weren't you busy thinking? Go back to doing that. Quietly."
"Ass," she muttered, rolling her eyes before shooting me a smirk like she'd just won something. "Anyway, I already decided."
Her tone set my instincts buzzing. Nothing good ever follows that tone. Women using that tone in my old life usually meant someone was about to end up stabbed or drugged.
"This generous young lady here," she declared, lifting a hand to her chest like she was presenting herself on a stage, "has decided to help you buy stylish clothes."
I stared at her. Stylish? My only criteria were 'cheap' and 'doesn't rip when someone tackles me.'
"Your help is both unwanted and unnecessary." My expression could make seasoned brawlers at the bar rethink their life choices.
"Oh yeah, I haven't introduced myself, have I?" Victoria breezes past it without hesitation.
"Oi, don't ignore me."
"I'm Victoria Dallon. It's not very nice to meet you." She smiles genially, holding out a hand with the self-assured cockiness of someone who always gets her way through things.
I very deliberately look down at her hand in thinly veiled disgust, take a large step to the side, and continue uninterrupted towards the exit of the mall.
The girl stays frozen for a few seconds there, shocked into inactivity that I rejected the notion of not wanting to be around her. People brushed past her on the walkway, giving confused looks. Then she snapped out of it and hurried to catch up with me, sputtering in the process.
"R-really? Just like that? Not even a single word, god, how much of an asshole can you be?" She shakes her head in exasperation,
"You keep asking that. Maybe you should take the hint."
She groaned loudly enough that two passing shoppers turned. "Look, you know the polite thing to do when someone offers help is to accept it."
"I don't need your help."
For some reason my words make Victoria wince, and the following concerned look she gives me is weird. Why would she look at me like that?
For some reason, the superheroine sighs, voice dropping, "You know… you kind of remind me of-"
She didn't get to finish, because someone stepped before us, cutting my exit.
Victoria slowed, blinking in surprise at the girl who had cut us off. She wasn't running anymore, but her breathing still came in shallow pulls as if she'd been searching every corner of the mall for us. My body shifted automatically, weight on the balls of my feet, center lowered, just enough to react if she produced a weapon. Her posture didn't scream 'combatant,' but surprise encounters had a way of turning bloody before anyone decided what they actually wanted.
She stood about half a head smaller then Victoria. Her hair curled in tight brown waves around her face, a constellation of freckles dusting her cheeks. A simple band around her wrist looked harmless, but I kept it in my peripheral vision anyway; poison rings came in stranger designs.
The other thing that I noticed was that the girl was stacked. Large breasts the same size as Rachel's, while also having wide hips comparable to Pritt. Big on a normal person, but when put on her short stack body, it seemed to make the curves even more obscene.
She was built like someone sculpted by a bored deity during a slow afternoon, all curves and soft lines that would guarantee she'd be cast in certain very specific films back home.
But then again, most girls in this world would, so that wasn't saying much. What it entailed is that I don't think I have ever met someone as curvy as her.
Her unimpressed glare, though, belonged to a completely ordinary woman fed up with someone.
Victoria paled on sight.
"Remind you of who, Vicky?" the brunette asked, voice coated with a sweet frustration that barely hid the annoyance underneath. "Maybe the person you left behind in that store without a single text?"
"A-ah," Victoria's laugh came out thin and guilty, eyes running around for escape routes. "Hey, Ames."
The words in my soul stirred at that, but they seemed shocked for some reason, just like when I met Rachel for the first time. Like they were trying to find the matching data in the servers, and it was coming up blank.
'Ames' huffed and finally let her attention settle on me. Whatever irritation she felt toward Victoria transferred over in an instant; her gaze swept me up and down, and I recognized the shift.
Ah, god dammit, I knew that look.
"And you are?" she asked in a tone meant to sound neutral, but her eyes gave away the simmering edge.
Absolutely not. I was not getting dragged into whatever relationship fallout this was.
"Leave me out of this lover spat," I said flatly, already priming myself to disengage before she dragged me deeper.
Same-sex relationships weren't exactly a thing in my old world; if they existed, no one talked about them. Still strange to me on an instinctual level, but not worth caring about. If people wanted to kiss whoever, fine. Didn't affect how fast they could bleed out.
Still weird though.
And I knew that she was Victoria's lover from the light in her eyes; it was an easy thing to see if you read enough people, the affection they held, the adoration, the lust was all unmistakable.
So was the anger of someone who felt ignored.
Such anger was easy to see in the girl's face.
However, unexpectedly, 'Ames' just freezes. Color drained from her face so quickly, I wondered for a moment if she was about to faint. Victoria, beside me, sputtered hard enough to choke.
"Eww—what the fuck, man?" Victoria barked. "That's my sister!"
[FEAT: Meet the NAMED CHARACTER [Amelia Dallon]
1x Random Bronze Gacha Ticket]
Spoiler: Amelia Dallon
Victoria kept talking—something about boundaries and assumptions—but none of it registered.
Because the moment that name slotted into place, the cosmic archive inside me clicked on like an ancient engine finally catching a spark. Information surged through my head so forcefully that I had to steady myself.
Amelia Dallon.
Panacea.
And I can only look at the still paralysed Amelia, who continues to stare at me with true fear in her gaze.
The healer who could rebuild a body with a thought. The girl who dedicated every spare hour to saving strangers in a hospital that drained her more than it filled her. The daughter trapped between a mother who barely tolerated her and a father she could heal but didn't dare to. The only light in her life in the form of her sister.
And even that affection fuels the loathing towards herself, feeling nothing but disgust because she believes even that connection was tainted by the fact that she is in love with her sister.
The Red Queen, the greatest Calamity of Earth-Bet.
And I had, entirely by accident, blurted her deepest secret directly in front of the very person she worshiped.
Amelia stood there, staring at me with raw, unfiltered terror.
The first real threat to my continued survival since arriving in this dimension.
Bob, I know this is somehow your fucking fault.
Fix this shit!