by Macronomicon
The picture blinked out.
Hmm… Politics, maybe? Jeb didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved that they censored his name. Sure, it rankled, but Jeb’s goal had always been to survive, not win some kind of medal, and he’d done what he’d set out to do. Plus, without the System, he was a bit of a sitting duck, so the less people who knew who he was, the better.
Jeb could tell he didn’t have the System anymore. He should have been strong enough to tear the bed frame apart, but it took nearly ten minutes to wrangle his new cane off.
He should have been smart enough to know exactly what to do next, perceptive enough to hear what was going on outside without even trying.
The core in his chest should burn like a star.
Jeb hobbled over to the window, awkwardly putting his weight on the cane as he hopped.
He drew back the chintzy motel curtains and peered into the dark.
There was the familiar parking lot, filled with familiar cars, each of them looking as though they’d spent a month in the sun, rain and dirt.
Beyond the parking lot however, the land was drastically different. The lush Oregon wilderness had been replaced with arid desert. In the distance, Jeb could barely make out the glittering lights of a city where before, the view had been nothing but green mountainside.
“Guess we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Jeb muttered, back in survival mode. He couldn’t stay here and starve to death, he had to get to the city and take his chances, but first he had to take care of something urgent.
Joe hobbled out the door and down to the office of the building, where he came across a vending machine, taunting him with king-sized Snickers bars behind tough glass.
If the vending machine hasn’t been busted into, then this place probably hasn’t been raided by humans yet. That means…
Jeb hobbled behind the counter and into the office, and after a little digging through the supply closet, found an excellent crowbar, just the right size to serve as a new cane/weapon.
He took his new find back to the vending machine and smashed it in, squinting against the shards of glass flying through the air.
It took several good hits, and Jeb nearly fell over half a dozen times, but he finally got the glass out of the way of his prize.
Jeb piled snickers bars up in his hand then sat down at the creaky table in the lobby. He read the label, looking for weight.
NET WT 3.7 OZ
Let’s see, sixteen ounces to the pound. If we rounded up, it would be four bars. Four times point three is one point two, so a third of a bar remainder.
Jeb carefully stacked four Snickers bars on the table, then hacked off a third of the fifth one, setting it on top of the other four.
“All yours, Smartass.”
Jeb stared at the pile, but the fairy didn’t show up to claim her prize. Jeb had kind of assumed there was some kind of magical connection implied with the ‘one pound of candy per month’ deal. God knew he felt compelled to honor the agreement. He was hoping the fairy would be able to find him through it.
“Well, maybe there’s travel time,” Jeb thought aloud, glancing at the coffee machine as he scratched his stump. I wonder… he looked over at the other vending machine, narrowing in on the beautiful brown bottled coffee.
Coffee Good. Jeb need coffee.
He was about to get up and liberate something to drink from the neighboring vending machine, when he glanced back at the table and noticed that the one-third of a snickers bar had vanished.
“Smartass?” Jeb asked, glancing around the room. Nothing.
When he looked back at the pile, another of the bars had vanished.
“I see how it is,” Jeb muttered, going over to the coffee machine and grabbing a fistful of sugar packets, dumping them out on the smooth surface of the dinky table and smoothing them with his palm.
“Smartass, if you’re here, please let me know.”
Jeb waited a good two minutes before it occurred to him.
“I can’t actually see or hear you right now, they took away my Myst,” Jeb explained to the air, eyes on the white canvass. “Use the sugar.”
His attention wavered for an instant, and suddenly there was tiny writing etched into the surface of the sugar.
Thought you were ignoring me.
Jeb gave a dry chuckle, imagining the fairy trying anything to get his attention.
Sorry, those jerks smelled me and thought it was a conspiracy.
“You were there?” Jeb asked, frowning. He’d figured the fairy had gotten dislodged when the beam of light had him tumbling through the sky, but maybe not.
It’s my fault.
Jeb digested that for a moment.
He was mad that those ‘gods’ had stolen his power, sure, but it wasn’t his power to start, and Jeb didn’t have aspirations of grandeur. Making himself a king or powerhouse was the last thing from his mind.
He didn’t need the power. If Jeb could still move tons of mass with his mind, he’d probably get a construction job and squander it building houses, settle down with a nice oil-lady and raise some kids.
The only moral way to use excess power was to squander it.
One thing sent cold chills down the back of his neck, though, and that was the idea that he was powerless, in a land where not having power could get you killed or enslaved.
There were plenty of people who had different views on the proper application of power, and Jeb knew that some of them had been even more dangerous than he had been at his height.
Jeb mentally prodded the burnt out star inside him. He could still feel it. He could see the gods. The CLG had called him ‘precocious’
Is it really dead? Jeb thought, idly tapping his chest.
Jeb turned his focus inward, scowling as he tried to force the cold lead weight in the center of his chest to burn. He inhaled, trying to draw Myst in and add it to the mix, but he couldn’t see or feel any difference, no matter how hard he tried.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jeb caught another message written in the sugar on the table.
Shit your pants?
Jeb blew out a breath of frustration. “No, I’m trying to get my Core working again.”
An idea occurred to Jeb, and he blurted it out before considering the ramifications.
“Can you help me with that? Fairies all have it from birth, right? You got any advice, techniques?”
For a while there was no response, then the white sugar shifted when he wasn’t paying attention, revealing a symbol, written big and bold.
$
Jeb sighed and buried his head in his hands
“Of course you want payment.”
Jeb considered quickly. Offering her regular payment in exchange for a certain duration would encourage the fairy to actively slow down his development. It wasn’t because she was evil, it was just how fairy-brain worked. He needed a payment scheme that encouraged her to speed things up.
“How about this. Every exponent of ten pounds that I can lift with my mind, I pay you a hundredth of that in pounds of candy? That’s a tenth of a pound of candy at ten pounds, one pound at a hundred pounds, ten at a thousand, a hundred at ten thousand, and a thousand pounds of candy if I can move a hundred thousand pounds with my mind.”
“Do you want a thousand pounds of candy?” Jeb asked, wondering if he was going to have to break into a Hershey’s factory or something.
…
….
We should get to work already. This is important stuff.
Jeb chuckled and plopped his chin into his hand.
Trying to kick your core into motion isn’t going to work. You’re focusing on an echo. A phantom limb. The sensation is still there, but the core itself isn’t.
“So what do I do?”
First thing, you need to See. Try to watch me while I eat my candy.
He stared until his eyes went dry, and the three remaining bars stayed completely still. Jeb lost his concentration and blinked for a moment, and another bar van
ished into the ether.
Only two pieces of chocolatey confection remained.
Jeb forced his eyes to remain open, watering as they dried out. Jeb knew there was something there, and by God, he was going to see it.
There was a pain in Jeb’s eyes that had nothing to do with keeping them open too long, it was deeper than that, throbbing back into his skull, which felt tight, like it was about to split open.
Exactly like it had before he’d seen those self-proclaimed gods. Exactly like it felt when he first chose to raise Myst.
Jeb groaned as he felt his skull crack open like an eggshell, too weak to contain something powerful inside any longer.
Blood tickled his upper lip before dribbling down to his chin as the air above the candy bars began to waver.
Crack!
There was a sound that was both heard and felt, physical and metaphysical, as Jeb’s Core began to make itself known inside him, the ball of lead’s core was slowly gaining heat as it began to stir.
The shimmer in the air resolved into Smartass, her tiny mouth covered in chocolate and desperately straining to fit around the corner of a bar. Her belly was hugely distended, and she seemed to have trouble maintaining altitude.
“Took you long enough,” Smartass said, sheepishly hiding the candy bar behind herself.
Jeb ignored her, and wiped the messages out of the sugar, making it even again. He sat there, staring at the grains of white powder on the cheap pressboard table.
“Hey, I don’t think-“
Jeb took a deep breath, and siphoned Myst with everything he had, aiming at the near-weightless, tiny grains of sugar. His Myst was dull and unresponsive, leaking only the tiniest amounts of Myst from his core, and his draw was weak, the massive steel pipe he’d grown accustomed to using had been replaced with a flimsy plastic straw.
“You probably shoul-“
Jeb took that tiny hint of Myst around his core and siphoned it out into the real world, solidifying a piece of telekinetic force small enough to nearly be imperceptible.
Jeb broke into a cackle as he mentally pushed a thin line through the grains of sugar, his Myst weak as an insect.
“You’re gonna-“
No natural talent my ass, Jeb thought shortly before his eyes rolled back in his head, slamming his face into the sugar as he passed out.
***Smartass***
“Hurt yourself, Jeb…Humans.”
Smartass rolled her eyes and went back to eating her delicious offering, feeling the puissant ecstasy of the human’s fulfilled bargain flowing into her as she did. The chocolate made it go down easier.
There was just something about Jeb that made deals with him carry more juice than other people. While making deals with the humans in the group was far more rewarding than Keegan or Melas, there was something in particular about Jeb specifically that made Smartass want to deal with him…
I wonder…
Smartass finally shrugged, dismissing the thought in favor of the huge candy bar.
***Casey Thompson the Third***
It has been sixty dark/light cycles since the blurry blob that says ‘mommy’ a lot stopped moving quite so much during the day. It is slowly coming into focus as my vision receptors seem to be gradually improving.
The silent ones that take care of me during the day don’t talk, and they aren’t as warm, although I think one of them has taken to warming themselves beside the hot orange blur before holding me.
While it is warm and comfortable, the heat gradually diminishes, leading me to believe that the ‘mommy’ creature who speaks is capable of producing her own warmth, while the silent blurs do not. Interesting.
Additionally, the ‘mommy’ creature’s food is always…better somehow, more fresh. Her body is softer as well.
Therefore my preference is for the mommy creature’s presence, but I am not particularly bothered by the silent ones, as they cause no particular discomfort.
Speaking of discomfort…
Casey’s face scrunched up uncontrollably as a poopie oozed out of her bottom unbidden.
I must summon the cleaners. She thought, vocalizing. That always seemed to get their attention.
It feels gross on my butt. The mommy creature doesn’t seem to have any poopies on her bottom. There must be some secret to controlling or outright eliminating poopies permanently.
“Aw, did you make poopies?” The mommy creature said, picking her up. “You got poopies Casey? Mommy will fix you up.”
The mommy creature wasn’t quite fast enough, and the discomfort grew, bringing tears to her eyes as her vocalizations turned into crying.
This is awful, she thought as she suffered through the practiced ministrations of the ‘mommy’ creature.
I swear. I will find some way to control the poopies.
***Casey Jr***
Casey the Third’s chubby little fist tightened as she scowled, looking like she was shaking her fist at the world, and it just about broke Casey’s heart with cuteness.
“Gawd, I wanna stay and pinch those cheeks so bad!” Casey said, before sighing, throwing the barcloth over her shoulder.
But there was work to do.
While the tavern could run itself, it wasn’t exactly popular without the personal touch.
Casey tromped back downstairs, going from quiet contemplation of her daughter to the rowdy main floor of her tavern. Like diving face first into raging surf, it was a totally different world.
In a corner of the main room, a band of six instruments were playing themselves, doing bardcore renditions of popular songs from human culture. Sometimes songs Casey didn’t particularly remember.
The tables were crammed with men and women of fantastic races, eating and drinking in a lively atmosphere that reminded her of a star wars cantina.
Maybe a little cleaner.
A couple of her mannequins wandered around serving and bussing tables, while three more cooked in the back room.
They made simple fare, stuff that didn’t require a fine palate or tasting to make sure they got it right.
Bacon and eggs, ham and cheese sandwiches, grilled cheese. That sort of thing.
God, if I told myself I’d be the proud owner of a Denny’s for aliens, I’d have asked for some of whatever they were smoking.
Mike was the Maitre d. The muscly angel greeted every customer with a brilliant smile, seeing them to their seats and managing the mannequins
Casey scanned the area. It was all hers. And such low overhead: She didn’t have to pay any of her employees.
After they got out of the tutorial, they’d divvied up the loot, and what do you know, their gear was worth a fortune. Enough to buy the business outright, even split five ways.
Should have been six, she thought idly, walking back to the bar. Why had Jeb, of all people, been the only one not there when they got teleported out of the tutorial?
Casey was serving drinks when an unfamiliar trio of men walked in. A lipless Keegan flanked by two big Melas. The orange skin and oily black hair were dead giveaways.
Strange.
“What can I get for you?” She asked as the man made it to the bar.
“Are you Casey Thompson?” The man asked with a neutral, indistinct voice. “One of the Impossible tutorial winners?”
“That’s me,” Casey said, tensing internally.
“Doryl Lancaster would like to purchase your time this evening.” He said, sliding a package across the bar. “There are many things about the impossible tutorial that we would like to-“
“For the last time,” Casey said, her temper getting the better of her. “I didn’t save any of the damn potions. Y’all know as much as I do about ‘em, and I ain’t got time to spend the entire evening telling rich assholes the same story. Answer ain’t gonna change no matter how much money you throw at it.”
“Regardless.” The man in the lead said. “It wouldn’t be wise to brush off Mr. Lancaster. It could turn poorly for you.”
“Oh,” Casey
said, leaning closer. “How’s that?”
“Mr. Lancaster has a lot of influence in this city, and accidents can happen,” the keegan said, placing his hand on the package of money and staring into her eyes. “Take the money, be there, or we can’t guarantee- ”
Whizz!
A nail shot down from a board above them and stabbed through the package, right in between the Keegan’s fingers, vibrating in the wood bar.
The man tried to stand up, but his chair shoved him back forward forcing him to sit while Casey fixed herself a virgin daiquiri.
“Accidents happen? Not in my house, they don’t.” Casey said as the house went silent. The chatter had died down to hushed whispers, the music stopped.
“You see, I learned a couple things when I was in the tutorial,” she said. “And here’s the real interesting thing.”
“They don’t sleep,” Casey said, gesturing to the mannequin busboys flanking the thugs with steak knives. “My friends here, they don’t get tired, or bored. They don’t waver, they can’t be seduced, distracted or bribed.”
Casey broke into a devilish smile.
“And most importantly. I can’t tell them what to do.”
The man frowned.
“But I thought –“
“Hey you,” Casey said, pointing at the nearest mannequin. “light the tavern on fire.”
The mannequin ignored her.
“You see? These guys aren’t under my control. They’re acting of their own volition. When I’m asleep, they’re awake. When I’m bored, they’re watching. And if they think that the best thing for me would be for your boss to disappear in the middle of the night?”
Casey shrugged. “I couldn’t stop them. So really, the ball’s in your court. How my friends relate to Mr. Lancaster relies entirely on how Mr. Lancaster relates to me.”
“I guess the question is, does Mr. Lancaster have more loyal friends than I do? Do they get distracted? Do they sleep? ‘Cuz you know, accidents happen.” Casey said.
The Keegan looked up at the loose board in the ceiling pulling itself back into place, while the nail pulled itself out of the countertop and began inch-worming over to a nearby mannequin. He glanced at the three cook mannequins standing silently in the window to the kitchen, casually bearing butcher knives and frying pans as they watched the altercation.
