AN: The humor in this fic is dependant on the fact the character in question is almost entirely out of character. Enjoy it for what it is-comedy. If it receives a positive reception, I may write up a few more chapters.
In my many years as the guardian of the gate, I have witnessed the rise and fall of the most breathtaking people and places in existence. I've seen everyone from Jesus to Hitler, watched them go through life 'til time catches up to them. When the last dinosaur gasped its final breathe and the ice age descended, I was there, ever vigilant. I watched the universe as it was born, and I am sure, in time, I will be at its deathbed as well.
But it is boring.
Allow me to clarify, I certainly don't want to confuse anyone into thinking watching the dawn of time is boring.
My role entails that I am ever present at this gate, and thusly bound to only enter the realm of the universe when it is of the highest urgency. No one else is permitted entry to this area. I stay here, alone, with a door-sized television screen showing me everything that ever was or is, and waiting to see what will be.
There are a few perks, like eternal youth. But on average, the days are appallingly routine.
When portable telecommunication was realized, I rejoiced. It was the first step towards contact with the outside world. Since the Hundred gate is outside the range of space and time, however, I had to wait further until after time travel was discovered and mastered. Only a few scant decades later, the first dimensional transmission and reception device was crafted, and I knew I had to get my hands on it.
So I bent the rules. Of everyone there is, I think I alone may understand the potential consequences of allowing myself this one infraction.
And I don't care. It is SO worth it.
Of course, no one has any sort of contact information for you when you live outside of reality. However, I do receive a very special kind of call every now and again.
"Hi, my name is Xanther, and I'm calling to talk to you today about Vectoral Fantasy, one of the leading..."
These advertising humans, poor hapless souls that they are, may wish to waste enough time on my personal line to generate some nominal income for themselves. However, they will soon realize, there is no one with more time to waste, and craftier ways to waste it, than I.
"Xanther? Did you say your name is Xanther?" I hold the contraption a few inches from my face, covering my mouth with a glove and muttering, "Jen, pin the location. Copy this down, they say their name is Xanther." Removing my hand, I hold the device back up to its rightful position. "My name is detective Pluto and we are currently investigating-"
"I'd really like to talk about Vector Fantasy and..."
"We'll get to that. Right now we're investigating the death of one...Meioh Setsuna, that is who you were calling yes?" I don't bother waiting for an answer, I know they don't know me. How could they? "How do you know this...Meioh Setsuna?"
"I'm sorry? I don't think I-"
"Answer the question, Xanther. Were you or were you not involved with the deceased?"
"I-what no! I was not involved with them."
I take a moment to pretend I'm talking with someone else, when really I'm just watching this poor fool through the gate, gleaning information for my own perverse pleasure. My voice is just loud enough again to be heard, "387, Pinegrove, Neo North Haven, U.S?" I shift my voice so its back to full volume again, "Okay Xanther, we have your location, so don't try anything you'll regret. We will need you in full cooperation with this-"
"I'm really just calling to talk about-!"
"Later, we'll address your fantasies later with our dedicated team of psychologists. Right now I need you to tell me about Meioh Setsuna. Were you a relative of hers?"
"No." He sounds so defeated. I can see through the gate, however, that he is not yet curled into fetal position. There is still work to be done.
"What is your relationship with the deceased?"
"I don't know them! I swear!"
"Save it for the jury." I am having way too much fun doing this. The man is visibly sweating now, and is he searching for help from the other cretins around him? Oh we'll have to fix that. "Where were you yesterday between 2 a.m and 5 a.m.?"
"I don't know!" I can see tears in his eyes. "Please, miss, I just-"
"You just what? Wanted to see how many chunks you could chop her into before you pieced her back together with his detritus?" He looks a little green around the gills, like he's contemplating vomiting.
That's when inspiration strikes him, and he turns off the power button. Relief is a new color on him. But the game isn't over yet, not by a long shot.
I input his coordinates and information, watching with glee as he unwittingly answers his own dimensional headset.
"Xanther did you just hang up?" My widening smile is inversely proportional to his rapidly falling one.
"No I just..."
"Need I remind you that if you fail to cooperate with us during the investigation of this homocide you will be charged?"
"No ma'am."
"Good. Now an officer will be coming to take you down to the station for further questioning. Keep in mind that our entire conversation has been recorded and may be used again later as evidence against you during the hearing."
Now he is openly weeping. He can't seem to find words to respond. No one around him has even noticed his bawling yet.
He finally gasps out two words.
"You," a moment of tearful gathering of his composure occurs, "can't-"
"I assure you I can. Good day sir."
I disconnect. After centuries in isolation I fear that my joy over ruining this man's day will not be enough to sate my craving for contact. I may have to place a call myself.
AN: I hate telemarketers.