(A/N: This prologue was just a fun writing exercise. It loosely relates to the main plot. Feel free to skip.)
Part One: The Cursed Child
Old man Humphrey chewed his tobacco and spat into a tin can.
"The last letter, they said they were reading em' books and he was struggling with math."
"Well, the way he's got buster riled up, dog seems to be struggling with John."
"They named him after your grandfather, you know. What would Joseph have said? If he could see you now."
"Well somethin' was wrong with him too, an' now somethin' ain't right wit' that damn boy".
"Well honey, I think he's adorable." His wife, Sharon, said.
"Yeah, well last night, after serving him a scoop of potatoes, I turned around" Humphrey hands were shaking, "and when I turned around, I done caught the dog eating off his plate at the table."
"Now what's that got to do with the boy?" She asked, twisting her eyes at him.
"Well I looked under the table and I saw the boy eating from the dog's bowl." He shook his head.
"He's growing up Humph-"
Humphrey lowered his head and raised his finger. "Quiet…!" He looked up at the ceiling, staring at a single point. Someone might think he'd been transfixed by a change in pressure, for an incoming storm. The folks around, they'd all visited and talked with each other a bit, and they knew that old man Humphrey had a talent for sensing a storm.
But she knew he was concentrating on something much more stupid.
"Humphrey Ironfuck you will cease this nonsense at once!"
He looked down at her, eyes wide.
"Sharon, you haven't seen their house. The blood…" Humphrey took a step forward, but Sharon's eyes deceived the emotion's she was trying to hide.
"You know where they found the boy?"
"You're not the same man I married. Tim, he's a child. Please for the sake of god listen to reason."
"He's going to hurt us Sharon… but I think I know what's making him behave this way. I've been observing the boy. It's those little electronic shooting things"
The upstairs floor creaked. They could see John was hiding but hadn't realized they'd spotted him.
Humphrey flinched, looking back. "John? Hey buddy" he held his hand up. "Please, no rough housing. We're having a very serious discussion right now."
Sharon stood up and smiled. "Hey bun, what's going on?"
"Just playing, love you!" John smiled, giggling, he turned back into his room, shutting the door as he went.
"Oh honey come on, don't you see?"
Humphrey flushed, casting his eyes down, he folded his arms and refused to speak.
"Hey…" She walked over, wrapping her arms around him. She laughed, "I called him bun. The two of you can be my honey-bun."
In the background, upstairs, they could hear John playing. "neutron bomb that doesn't hurt John! T minus… uh 50 seconds!"
"No!" Humphrey bucked – Sharon fell into him. Humphrey turned sideways, his leg caught on something.
He wrested his foot free, tearing the cuff of his pants. He sprinted up the stairs.
"T minus one seconds."
Humphrey clawed at the doorknob, John continued, and he realized that John had only learned to count to two."
Part Two: Brave Protector
July 4th. Clear blue sky. Endless golden sands. The searing sun. Yes, this was Impovrishtan.
A man with a red bandana and a machine gun, unveiled himself from the desert floor.
"John Ironfuck, do you read me?" said Commander Chad Armstrong, the artificial intelligence within his bionic processor chip.
John pressed his finger to his ear, amplifying the signal. "Loud and clear command."
"We've got sixteen Impovirshtani Toeiota war trucks heading your direction. You have five minutes to infiltrate the rebel base and arm the ionic bomb."
A bead of sweat dropped down from his head, flowing slowly and landing in the sand. John flexed his hands. He was wearing Mechatron High Performance Fingerless Gloves, made with luxury rubber imported from a covert industrial operation in Antarctica.
His finger touched the side of his ear and he squinted his eyes. "Copy that command."
John rushed forward, vaulting over a simple cattle wire fence. Seeing a shadow cross over a corner of a mud hut - he drew his weapon up.
Two well placed bullets put the AK toting fellow down. The two gunshots were silenced with advanced British technology. The newest suppressors on the market. Sold at a low price of $1,999.99. John was able to acquire two such units before they sold out.
"Score!" He pumped his fist.
John moved up past the dead guy, dry sand already obscuring the body. If he was left there, he would soon become a starch white skeleton, devoid of flesh. Such was the ways of this deeply flawed nation.
John shook his head, pressing his finger to his ear. "Poor bastard," he tsked, "never stood a chance."
"You've just saved another single mother John. Now! You must move. North, by about the length of five lawnmowers, plant the bomb there. It's the heart of their base, a strike here will cripple the rebel operations in this area."
"Copy that Commander." John nodded, gritting his teeth, he swept his machine gun to be level with his hip – a strategic position, allowing his bullets a better angle of attack!
He rushed in. Immediately, he slid down on his knee and fired a burst of automatic fire. Rounds flew off from the side of his machine gun and onto the ground, melting the sand into small beads of glass.
"Ah come on you terrorist cowards!" An explosion ripped through one hut – likely a munitions depot. Before the shockwave could reach him, he pulled out his Bobbyton Silver Series .50 Handgun. Aiming at the hut right next to him, his bullet pierced a crack in the wall. John somersaulted through the now weakened mud wall – just as rocks and stray rounds flew past him – pelting off against the wall.
"Hoorah motherfucker!" He pumped his arm again. Leaping up from the ground, he pulled out a small square screen. It was a ManeuraCorp Identifying Radar 3000. He set the search from "Scented Candle" to "Cherry Coke".
Walking slowly in a circle, moving the camera up and down. He spun around about five times before a soft honk played from the device. On the square screen, a cylindrical object became highlighted – scanning past physical material such as walls or dirt.
"Got it!" He moved over to a carpet and pulled it, revealing an ice box with a Cherry Coke and a Pepsi Cola. He shrugged, grabbing both, putting the blue can away for later.
The can opened with a crisp pop and the sound of fizzling liquid whispered sweet nothings to his ear. He looked in a specific direction, smiled, held up his beverage as if he were presenting it, then took a small sip. He clicked his tongue. "Wow," he winked, "The cold, crisp taste of Coke".
He turned back to the door. The exploded hut had settled down, and now the rebel troops were organizing. John pierced the bottom of the can with his thumb, licked it, then shotgunned it.
The spirit of American productivity speared through him. His heart pounded and he couldn't help but breathe faster. His skin was turning a shade of red. "Yeah! Yeah!" He thumped his chest.
Banging his head up and down, he sprinted out of the hut, holding in his respective hands, a machine gun and handgun.
"Prosperity!" He shouted at the top of his lungs. His bionic processor went into overdrive and Commander Chad Armstrong guided his aim. Nineteen red circles appeared in his vision, his hands moved autonomously.
Seconds passed, continuous fire chained out, taking down the Impovirshtani Terrorists.
He dashed forward and took more shots. He ramped up to a dead sprint, gasping for air with each step, going cross-eyed as he gunned down dozens of fighters.
With a gallant effort, he ran up onto a fruit cart, then jumped right off the top – performing a double backflip, then landing into a side split. Both of his arms were extended out, and fired indiscriminately
With a snap, he quickly jumped up into a squatting position. He moved one hand to his ear and another to his back pocket.
"Command. I've arrived at the checkpoint. Planting Ionic bomb on the AO. Do you copy?"
"10-4 Ironfuck. Good – now put the blue wire into the blue hole. Then do the same with the yellow and green wires."
"Copy that Commander. Over and out."
He left his squat position, snapping his knee to the ground. He planted the bomb down, reached behind his head and tightened his bandana.
He pulled out a tool kit. A size large plastic tweezers. Manufactured and sold by Fuuntoys Corp. Based out of Japan, they specialized in boardgames. They also sell military grade bomb defusal kits.
His hand creaked nearer to the box. Slowly, he pulled the red wire from one wall to the red hole. He plugged it in.
He stared at the wires, blinking, he nodded his head. He pulled the yellow wire – a gunshot whizzed overhead. He looked up and killed the guy with only his stone cold glare, then looked back.
"They never learn." He smirked, adjusting the tweezers in his hand. He moved his hand forward and picked up the yellow wire.
A gust of wind. A tumbleweed went past him.
He leaned back, scratching the back of his head.
"Good work John." Commander Armstrong called in, "Advance to exfil point."
John pressed his finger onto his ear. "Oh… Okay sir?" He started to stand up.
"Okay John, move about two football fields to the west."
"…" John grunted, picking up his stuff. He grunted out something unintelligible.
John started jogging out. He was just about at the exfil point when Armstrong hummed.
"Strange. The demo time was set to 20 seconds."
There was a white bird perched on a little fountain under a tarp roof. It was blue and it looked so happy in the water.
"John stop."
Chad sighed. "John go arm the ionic bomb."
"I did." John said, a slight hint of self-righteousness leaking out. "The bomb must be broken."
"Okay John, maneuver tactically to the ionic explosive – take out any remaining terrorist troops, then report for further Top Secret orders!"
John stopped his run, skidding to a halt, he turned and went back the other direction, huffing and puffing.
"Sir yes sir! For liberty!"
He rushed back all the way to the box. Slid down onto his knees, guns falling to his sides – attached with straps slung over his shoulders.
He grabbed the plastic tweezers. "All enemies are KIA! I'm here Commander!"
"Okay John listen closely. Are you listening?"
John nodded.
John looked at that tumbleweed from earlier.
"John pay attention. Now grab the yellow wire and plug it into the yellow hole."
John stared down at the box. He shifted the tweezers in his hand, trying out another grip. He looked back down at the wires. He nodded.
Lowering his hand into the box, he paused. "Right. I have the box now, but sir, what do I do with the green wire?"
"Oh my god, it's not rocket science. Okay, turn it around. Good! Good. Now, pick up the green wire and put it in the green hole – good John, okay John, now, go back to the exfil point."
As John Ironfuck moved out of the Terrorist base, an explosion threw a cloud of sand and rock into the air.
"Shit! John, we've got enemy forces approaching fast! If we don't get you out of there now, we'll all be dead! Eyeraynian fighter jets are en route!"
"Oh shit!" John pulled out the Pepsi, still ice cold. He carved the top of the can off with his $14.99 blade, sold by Gutmuncher Inc. a non-profit organization built off of the donations of school drives and girl scout cookie programs.
He sucked down the fizzy beverage, then adrenaline slammed into his system.
"John, get to the chopper!"
He slid onto his knees, transitioned to a somersault then into a one-handed cartwheel, landing right on the edge of the ramp of the helicopter.
The tail gunner, grabbed hold of John's wrist as the helicopter took off.
"Ironfuck, hold on!"
John flexed his abs, helping the gunner pull him in. "Thanks Brock."
Stepping into the air-conditioned chopper, he sat down and opened the mini fridge.
"Good work out there John" Stanley fist bumped him and passed the Xbox controller.
"John, I don't know why my enchantment table only shows level one stuff."
"Ah yep. The bookshelves are too far back. Easy fix."
"I told you to do that hours ago." Brock complained.
"Well, excuse me for not listening to you after you told me that torches prevent lava damage. That was my hardcore world man."
"For the hundredth time Stanley, I'm sorry. Okay? It worked for me, but whatever." He threw his hands up, sighing and pulling out his phone.
John cupped his hand to his ear. A special activation signal. "Glam rock playlist, activate."
The helicopter shook with a screaming melody of heartbreak, and the chopper rode off into the sunset.
Part Three: The Next Chapter
The general had put out the red carpet for the chopper. A row of ceremonial soldiers saluted, then in unison, played their trumpets.
A massive american flag flew overhead.
John waved to the crowd of reporters and onlookers. "Thank you! Thank you all!" He pointed to someone in the crowd "Hey, merry Christmas!"
"It's July 4th John." Chad politely reminded him.
"Oh aha!" he laughed "Happy fourth!" He gave a thumbs up, nodding.
The general gestured invitingly. "This way John. We have a limousine ready to take you home."
John walked over and got in. The general held the door, "Thank you for your service son. God bless you." He said, shutting the door and cuffing the roof twice.
The driver stepped on the gas pedal. The tires spun in place, then the car sped forward, out of the airport – and into San de Union, the capital of the free world.
"Soft piano playlist, activate."
He pulled his phone out. Checking his upgrade timers, then the weather app, then he scrolled for a while.
"Welcome home sir."
The car stopped and a maid opened the door. "Mr. Ironfuck, welcome back."
"Thank you, Gertrude."
"Well of course sir." She bowed slightly. "And how can I accommodate you?"
John Ironfuck thought for a moment, "well," he said, trailing for a moment.
"Please prepare two PB&J's and cut the crusts off." He thought, "and a cup of milk please." He added.
"Well okay John, I'll have that prepared for you."
"Why thank you miss Gertrude." He jogged up to the front door and immediately made a 90-degree turn into the house.
"First, I'll slay on the guitar!"
Inside the Ironfuck Manor, there was a plethora of novelties. One such was a band room with John's most favorite guitar's, drum sets - all his cool speakers and music posters. This was the music room. And if someone pulled up a poster – specifically the Village People poster, it would reveal a red button. If you pressed that button, a wall would flip, revealing a piano.
"Hey yeah, come on baby!" John slung on a guitar and just started ripping Cliffs of Dover like a total badass.
His fingers were moving fast as shit "Hell yeah man!" he deftly reached out and snagged a Sprite from a sneaky minifridge.
Then he started absolutely slaying Eruption.
|Give us John|
II
A snowy mountain in the far east. A panda rubbed Its back against the trunk of a Cherry Blossom. Inside a massive fortified strategic pagoda compound, A man in a red military suit paced his office. A Chinese officer stood at rapt attention, awaiting acknowledgement.
The officer had entered the office, thirty minutes prior. He had been standing at attention ever since – till even now. His feet were aching. His knees – oh long gone man, calcified probably.
|Give u|s John|
IV
In the cramped jungles of Junglistan, Juan Carcrash, Brazilian Supreme Renegrenadier – clocked in on the job.
"Ey el command, you getting this?" He nodded at the rebel Junglistani training camp. "I should light up all these foo's, no?"
"Si senor Carcrash, smoke them dudes."
"Ey sup dudes!" with AK in hand, he slung down a vine, right into the middle of the training camp.
V
Hey! That was my pre-write. What the actual hell man.
VI
A hand pierces the Universal Veil. Send us John.
VI
Woah, not cool. That did not happen. Like, what would that even mean dude? John doesn't want to go anywhere.
God damn, now we're back here again.
Anyways…
Yes, there he sat, still as a bowl, or a mouse?
Um?
"Still as a mouse under a microscope." The officer said, then clutched his mouth, flinching.
Oh fuck.
The domineering Chinese General turned around. He was known as "The Red Shadow". He had only one eyebrow, and it rose as he looked side long at the impudent officer.
"What did you say just now? I heard you speak American."
No, no, man I'm new to this. Why do I always fuck this shit up? I bet if I had, oh I don't know – 2.8 million years' worth of experience, it'd be easy for me too.
A man in a green suit – yes, it was green, and he also had a cool baseball cap. He was pacing around in his Chinese office. He smoked a cigar, and observed a painting. "Just beautiful how he crossed the Delaware." He wiped a genuine tear of admiration from his cheek.
The soldier who had been standing in the room shifted his foot and checked his watch. "Right sir." He shrugged. "About the guy - why him, and for what?"
"Because he must become Ren," he said. "And he must become Dao of the Tao," He pointed and then spat, "with the chow" for some reason.
He flicked his baseball cap, smirking like he knew a silly secret.
"Yes sir! As you command." the soldier saluted, then ran in some direction.
The floor was concrete. Sharp footsteps could be heard, clicks echoing in the halls. An officer marched into the office in a flawless white uniform. He was carrying a briefcase. "Colonel." He said, opening the case, displaying hundreds of dollars' worth in cash.
The front of the case had a large dollar sign on it, as well as a cross and bones sign.
"Thank you, son," Buck Hardman said, grinning ear to ear, he looked like a shark and that kind of scared the officer, but he hid it well.
Buck pressed his hand into the officer's shoulder, pointing at the door. "Go along now."
The officer bowed, "Yes sir."
Buck pressed his hand to his ear. "Radio check. Major? Report."
VThe radio operator saw a light shine out Ifrom space, and he gained knowledge.
"We need to get John." He picked up his radio.
A hand pierces the veil and God Emperor Yong Die Yan Di enters the Universe.I
VIII
"Shit" Buck said. There was a voice, but it was heavily scrambled. He had to get a better signal.
Buck pressed his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply.
A screech echoed from down a hallway. An eagle rounded the corner, scratching the walls as it flew into his embrace. "Eaglo!"
"Caw-caw!" it said, wrapping it's arms around him."
Buck Hardman pressed his finger to ear and spoke softly. "Who's this speaking on the radio?"
"This is Major Smith" His voice was calm, "I respect your intelligence Mr. Hardman. I just had a recent report come in from Portal Tech Unit 2"
"Go ahead son" Buck said.
"The planar gate is stable, but we've diverted power from emergency sources. Several cities have lost power. Again, the gate is stable."
"Wait, a plane-a-who?"
"Don't worry about it sir. We've just got to extract a target and bring it from one place to another.
"Well okay Smith go ahead and write a check mark on my Bingo card. I'll be on my way."
He unhugged Eaglo, then looked seriously towards the sky. He looked really handsome. "I wouldn't want to be the guy who messed with me." He said, laughing with a rueful smile.
"You think?" Major Smith said, allowing himself a polite chuckle.
Buck Hardman pulled a set of car keys out of his pocket, pressing them twice, it beeped and then screeching to a stop came his Flying Atomic Motorcycle.
Rolling the throttle twice, the engine roared to life, fire flared out the exhaust pipe.
"Routing the address and portfolio to your comms now, Colonel Hardman."
He twisted the bike around, leaving a black scorch mark on the concrete. Yipping away, Buck pressed his finger to his ear. "En route to the target's location. Tell me about the target."
"It's Chief Major Commander John Ironfuck. He's just returned from Impovrishtan."
"A-okay. I've seen that guy's work. He's got potential." Joseph hummed.
"How much is a little snot drinker like that worth?" He asked.
"That chub?" Buck giggled. "Oh, I don't know. Bout' six or seven dollars."
"Oh yeah? That'll set you up. Man could live a good life on that much."
"I thought so too – realistic if living humbly."
"Right." Joseph agreed.
"Oh, okay Major Smith, I see the mansion. – Wait – I said wait!" he paused, staring at the house.
"What? Are we compromised?"
"No. We're good, I just had to fart."
"Yes sir."
Colonel Buck Hardman jumped down, then sneakily approached the front door of the mansion. With a quick turn of the doorknob, he was in.
Damn. John was good with the guitar, Buck noticed. "That's fucking badass dude." Buck mumbled.
Buck put aside his emotions and walked past the coat room. The room was surprisingly small, he noted.
He turned into the next closest room, closer to where he could hear John playing.
Once he got there, he paused, then cursed. For whatever reason, John had installed a massive roller coaster tube system that connected every other room in the house. So basically, you walk in, hang up your coat, then go and jump in a hole.
There were like, dozens of fucking holes he could jump into.
"Which fuckin' hole is it?" Buck thought.
"Damn!" Buck cursed, taking his badass $499.99 CompressCorp helmet off. He pulled a shotgun out of the sack and pumped it. "I'm coming for you John Ironfuck!" and he jumped down a random pipe.
III
John laughed as Gertrude applauded his performance. He set the guitar down.
"I'm glad you're having fun John. Here are your sandwiches."
"Nuclear bike detected." A monotone robot voice overhead said. An alarm went off.
"Oh shit! John said, open that closet door and get the missile launcher" John said, scrambling up from the couch, diving across the room.
This was his music room, so he had limited munitions here.
Bullets flew through the wall as Buck opened fire throughout the house as he tumbled down a chute.
John guessed where he was then shot back, but none of the bullets hit Buck.
Buck started firing back but somehow his bullets knew where to go!
Ouch! John yelped.
"Oh crap! Every man for himself!" John said, grabbing a go bag next to the door."
"Valhalla!" He yelled, sprinting and jumping through a window – backflipping across a hedge.
Buck was right behind him. He'd jumped out a window too!
John hurrahed with all the courage he could muster, then pointed his guns at Buck Hardman.
John knew this man. Hell, he'd grown up listening to stories of him. Buck was a famous Navy Seal. Trained by John Shotgun, patron saint of close combat.
John Ironfuck knew this was it.
"Come here boy!" Buck said. Blasting the guitar, then the gun out from John's hand. His motorcycle came crashing into the ground – maybe it malfunctioned?
"Oh god damn it, there goes my ride, John…" He pointed, "John Whateverthefuck." He headbutted John to the ground, he pointed a finger at Gertrude, who had appeared helplessly.
Bucks finger turned into a finger gun.
"You got something to say, girl?" He rolled his tongue in his mouth. Gertrude quivered slightly. "Please! I've got a dog!"
"Good, somewhere to send the bones." Buck pressed his thumb to his pointer finger and made a clicking noise with his tongue.
A crack echoed through the air, bouncing off of distant mountains.
Gertrude shouted in pain as a hole ripped through her chest. "Oh," she cried, "you've killed me!"
"Yes." Buck said. "I've killed you till you are dead" he said menacingly.
Buck Hardman grabbed John Ironfuck by the scruff of his neck. "Come on small fry. Your ass is going to LaLa land."
"We're doing a prisoner exchange and I have the coordinates here."
John snored into Buck's hand. He was out cold.
"Eeugh." Buck shook his head, going back into the mansion, finding his motorcycle. "God damn, all this work." Buck said.
He dragged the dang ol thing outta the house and sat it upright. Then, he took a seat and slapped the side of the engine a few times. "Right as rain." He said, happy with his girl.
He carried John all the way to the exchange point. "There were two guards on the other end. Their eyes were thin. Why is that? He thought, as he pressed John through the other side.
"I'm thirsty. I could go for a $1.99 Founding Fizz." He told them, smiling strangely.
"If it's liquid you want, perhaps this will satisfy your thirst." One of the guards pulled out a flask with an amber gold liquid.
"Thousand-sun divine elixir, this will transform your-"
"Not a fan of orange. Got anything red, white, or blue? And none of that voodoo nonsense. Just soda."
The guard scoffed, reached his hand out and a soda can appeared in his hand. It was small, and it was colored red, white and blue. Stars even lined the ridge of it.
"Liquid freedom." Buck's eyes glowed. "That's a collectible soda!"
"With this," he intoned, "The western world can sleep safely tonight." He gingerly accepted the beverage, cracked it and drank it whole, burping with delight.
"Just let me know who's next." He said, tossing John towards them and turning away.
IV
"That's a spicy quesadilla." John slurred. He bent down and pulled a short revolver out from his boot. He pointed it at the guard, who looked at him with annoyance.
"What do you commies want with me?"
He fired a round, but instead of killing the weirdo, the bullet flattened against their forehead.
John caught the eye of the guard. He forced a bout of uncomfortable eye contact.
"First it was John MCain, now it's me?" He tilted his head, pressing a finger into his own chest.
"You God damn Junglistani bastards. You never fought fair, always in the shadows, crafting up little dangerous traps."
His captors grunted in annoyance. "Mongrel, quit spouting your filth."
John grabbed his lips, opening his mouth extra wide. "I can't hear you!" He bounced up and down, then make a quick jab at the guard – slapping his face.
"Li Shun, this human is demented. Is he truly worthy of The Way?" One guard asked the other.
"We do not need him. We only need his soul. He is one of their heroes. Even this one will be made in the face of Ren. After but one wash in the river of souls, and he'll be as any of us are."
The other guard bowed. John was starting to think they weren't guards.
"I will send you to your rebirth." He drew a blade, black as night, with waves of red pulsing fire. He stepped towards john, the mere measure of his power over reality forced John Ironfuck to his knees.
John struggled with all his worth as a man. He couldn't even scream as he saw the blade cross from shoulder to hip. "Huh." He coughed. Then fell over dead.
Part Four: Sir This is a Wendy's
John Ironfuck opened his eyes. He looked around. There was a silver river and a golden river. Also, stars, weird lights and other cool stuff. With an awed tone of voice, he softly said, "Top 10 places to take a shit."
"Hm." He patted his pockets. His Pepsi was gone. "Damn."
"John Ironfuck." A voice coming from every direction spoke. It wasn't loud, nor was it quiet.
John turned around.
Ren was there. The Allfather. Master of the universe and beyond. Just seeing him would warp the minds of lesser beings.
John stared at him, then after a moment decided to speak first. "Sup dude. This your lair?"
Ren looked at John Ironfuck with an expression that could only be described as the cosmic equivalent of a man who had just found a raccoon in his kitchen.
"You are dead," Ren said.
"I got that impression, yeah. The sword." John drew a line across his own chest with his finger. "Shoulder to hip. Clean cut. That guy had good form actually, I'll give him that." He looked up. "Is my maid okay? Gertrude?"
"She is outside my power."
"She had a dog."
"I am aware of the dog."
"Okay, good." John nodded slowly, satisfied. "So what happens now? Do I go back or-"
"You will be cycled." Ren said. "Your soul will pass through the River of Souls, and you will be born anew. You will keep the potency of your soul. The karmic measure of your-"
"Your universe?" John said.
"Yes."
John looked at him.
"Not my original one? You, the one with Pepsi?"
"Your ties to your old universe have been severed completely. You will be cycled into my universe, your power will be intact, and reborn in accordance with-
"Okay, great." John clapped his hands once. "Let's do it."
"You will need to approach the River and-
"Where is it?"
"I am explaining where it is."
"Oh, sorry. Go ahead."
Ren continued. John nodded along with the expression of a man absorbing approximately eleven percent of what was being said to him. He off to the side at a shooting star. Then he had a thought. He opened his mouth.
"Can I ask something real quick?"
"No."
"It's fast."
Ren stopped.
"When I get reborn," John said, "do I keep the processor? Because Chad's in there. He's my guy. I don't want to leave him behind."
"The processor carries a second soul. Distinct from yours."
"Yeah, that's Chad."
"Yes. You keep Chad."
"Great." John pointed at him. "You're really good at this."
The shooting star that John was looking at suddenly disappeared. Ren looked at John Ironfuck again.
He ran the numbers on John Ironfuck existing somewhere in his universe. Reborn. Power intact. Chad Armstrong included. Operating in his universe the way John Ironfuck operated in things, which was to say with complete immunity to the social, physical, and karmic frameworks that governed everyone else. He found the idea extremely distasteful.
He looked at John one more time.
John was trying to see his own reflection in the river of fate. He was leaning over quite far.
Ren made his decision.
"Actually," he said quietly, "I am not going to cycle you."
John looked up. "Oh yeah?"
"I am going to destroy your soul."
John straightened. "What?"
"Not entirely." Ren raised one hand, and light that had no color gathered in his palm.
"Okay, hold on-
"What does that mean?"
"It means," Ren said, and the light in his palm became very still, "that everything you are will cease to exist. I'll spread you among all the universe."
John stared at him.
"Is it because of Chad?" He asked.
Ren closed his eyes briefly.
"It is not because of Chad."
"Because I can tell Chad to tone it down. He does that sometimes. In enclosed spaces. He gets a little-"
"This isn't Chad's fault."
"Then what did I do?"
"Nothing," Ren said. "You did nothing. You are exactly what you are. That is the problem."
John opened his mouth.
He had things to say. He had good points. He was going to mention Chad specifically, and Gertrude, and the dog, and also the fact that he hadn't finished Eruption yet and he was genuinely getting very good at the difficult middle section. He was going to mention that this seemed like a violation of something, probably, and that someone should be contacted, a supervisor maybe, someone above Ren.
Ren closed his hand.
The rivers of fate and karma upended and swallowed John whole. Destroying his being in it's entirety and dispersing his potency across the universe.
Ren sat in the silence of his domain for a moment. The rivers of fate and karma resumed their courses.
He opened his hand. There was another soul there. Chad Armstrong. "I suppose you may be recycled."
Fate appeared beside him without being summoned, because Fate always arrived exactly when it was supposed to, that was rather the point.
"This soul is damaged beyond repair. It will never recover."
"At this point, I don't care. Cycle it."
Fate accepted the soul without further comment.
It moved.
Across the vast incomprehensible distance between a domain outside of universes and a specific wagon on a specific mountain path in a specific province of a world called many things by many people, the mote traveled with the unhurried certainty of something that had already arrived and was simply letting the present moment catch up.
It found a young prince in red robes.
It found him cold, and still, and not breathing, and it found that the space behind his eyes, which he had spent years learning to empty through disciplined meditation, was quiet and open and ready.
It went in.
In the wagon, hours later, rolling down out of the mountains toward Qingshuo City, Jihoo Kang lay under his blankets and heard, from somewhere he could not locate, in a voice that was not his own and belonged to no language he had ever studied:
"Calibration complete. Neural handshake established."
He sat up.