Proof of Concept: Part Two (Attempt #27)

Of paramount importance, probably, was ensuring my cohorts that I wasn't as frightening as my previous display may have suggested. Yeah, I 'd gone from zero to psychopathic demi-god over a very short span of time, but what needed to define me were my words and not my actions. That was likely too idealistic to execute properly with my limited time frame and resources. I was well aware of that, but let's get down to brass tacks here.

I had a notebook.

At the risk of contributing to society's broken record on the subject of technology, I'll assert once more that the most eminently exploitable feature of modern day communication is the ability to proofread one's sentiments prior transmission. That's not a tool you have when speaking face to face, generally speaking.

Of course, it would trigger a sociological collapse of some magnitude if we did away with the tactile immediacy of authentic human interaction. The hippies would go nuclear on us if we could all decide that we'd rather be texting the people in front of us. Which is why it's probably best that I'm the only one who gets to do that.

The psychologists could go ahead and name a neurological disorder after me for all I care. They could add me to the next edition of the Merck and I wouldn't bat an eye. Because if I wanted to forsake my humanity and stop time to carefully consider my next words then God damn it that's what I was gonna do.

So that's what I did. I looked present company dead in the eye and gave my shield a half turn, halting the current of time. It was out of necessity really. I had the potential to seriously flub this persuasion check if I wasn't on the ball, and for the record, I was not on the ball. The ball was gone. I'd lost it. Not to worry though. I had plenty of time to find it.

They say that American natives were known for using every bit of each buffalo they hunted, whereas the European settlers were prone to leaving everything but the hide. It disgusted the natives, for it was of the highest dishonor to the sacred animal to take its life and let so much of its body go to waste. I was no native. I wasn't really big on any sort of new age philosophy either. But what I saw before me was a fresh buffalo kill, and I intended to use every last hunk of it to my advantage.

That is to say, I realized I had an opportunity to closely scrutinize my companions' body language whilst planning my statement. They all bore a variety of brazenly confused visages for starters, but I didn't need a looking glass to tell me that.

Sayaka, in particular, had a very stern look on her face which read as somewhere between "This bitch is gettin on my nerves." And "Imma fuck this bitch up." I also noticed she was clutching her club, which rested on her shoulder, very tightly, as though she was preparing to act on the latter sentiment. Suffice to say, soothing Sayaka's concerns currently had top priority.

Moving on to Mami, I could see that her mild yellow eyes held no apparent animosity towards me, just genuine confusion. As plain as it gets, Mami was looking for answers. Because beyond the main thrust of what had just occurred she was simply befuddled by the preceding episode. I also noticed, with audible relief, that she had her finger off the trigger of her terminal rifle. Mami just needed the situation explained. That was easy enough.

Lastly, I observed that Madoka wasn't actually looking at me. I mean, she was looking at me but she wasn't focused on me. She was spacing out, as though deep in thought. Or, more likely, she was remembering something. It was quite probable that she was recalling the dream she'd had about me and was now formulating a more comprehensive image of me as a person. It was far and away a more accurate representation than anything she'd been working with before, but it wouldn't do for her to have such a spot on idea of who I was just yet. Out of everyone here, I still needed her trust if I was to convince her not to become a magical girl, so I needed to ground myself with this statement as well.

Tallying the score, I reckoned I needed to be conciliatory, explanatory, and down to earth when explaining that, yes, It was in fact I who blew Charlotte to fucking oblivion. I sat down with my notebook and started drafting a proper response.

When I was finished, it came out something like this:

"Oh, gee. You mean the big fiery explosions? Yeah, I guess I got super duper excited and wanted to show off a little, but I might have overdone it. Silly me!"

I finished by chortling and lightly rapping my knuckles against my skull, executing some form of self punishment.

All in all, it didn't play quite as well as I'd hoped. Actually, if we're being honest here, it didn't fucking play. They just kept staring at me like I'd made a joke about murdering their parents.

"Yeah... Okay." Said Sayaka as she loosened her grip on the club slightly.

Mami gave her musket a little twirl and deposited it in her boot where it seemed to disappear. She then transformed back to normal, turned to leave, and said "Alright. Gotcha."

Madoka looked at me and laughed nervously.

"That's okay, Akemi-san. I tend to overdo things all the time. Heh heh."

God damn it. Why was it so fucking difficult to regulate my deep character flaws without coming across as completely bonkers? I'm not even the crazy one. These bitches should see Sayaka when she gets upset. That's what a real basket case looks like.

In any event, I'd seemed to inadvertently create the moment which would define my relationship with these girls for the duration of the time loop, but at least they weren't dead this time. We all resolved to call it a day.

The next section of the timeline was relatively uncharted territory. Mami didn't often make it this far. It also signaled the beginning of a real crisis I needed to deal with. Mami wasn't dead, and I hadn't done a single fucking thing to make becoming a magical girl seem even remotely disadvantageous. These girls were primed to contract, and there wasn't a whole lot I could do about it. It was a like a game of hearts in which I'd suddenly realized I couldn't get rid of the queen of spades. The only way to pull this back was to shoot the moon.

Sayaka would contract. Couldn't do shit about that. She had both the aptitude and the drive. Having something to wish for in her back pocket helped too. Madoka was still very much on the fence about it. She wasn't built for this line of work. But eventually she was slated to come around to the idea. Especially with all this positive energy floating around. The next big events set to occur regarded Kyouko's arrival, Sayaka's contract, and possibly the discovery of the true nature of the soul gems.

Here was catch-22 part 2. If the group were to discover the truth, that our bodies were now just husks which were controlled by our soul gems, then Sayaka would just fucking lose it. That's how it always happens. Very rarely does she ever recover from that. At the same time, it serves as a beautiful deterrent for Madoka. With Mami still alive, the next biggest thing to stop Madoka from contracting was her best friend going suicidally nuclear. However, this was still a numbers game. I could hardly afford to lose Sayaka before the fight with Walpurgisnacht, if previous iterations held true, and thus, I needed a backup strat.

I had one. It was ridiculous but I did have one.

It was Kyouko, essentially. It was everything about Kyouko that was worth detesting.

My plan was to highlight for Madoka the cutthroat nature of the business, as well as the inescapable ennui of the endless battle with the witches. The reality being that she'd likely be living grief seed to grief seed, always on the hunt, always on the brink.

That was the sales pitch.

That was literally all I had in the way of halting the contract, short of sending Sayaka into a chaotic death spiral, or over facilitating Mami's ego to yield fatal decapitation. Kyouko was the name of the game. The biggest problem was that she wasn't even supposed to show up while Mami was still alive.

Mitakihara City is Mami's beat. Kyouko just subs when she dies. Mass action dictates that the void be filled quickly, and so it is. The trouble now is that Kyouko had no incentive to drop in. So I had to go and make one for her.

This worked out rather nicely, as it was becoming clear that my diplomatic efforts hadn't been received as well as I might have hoped. My scripted remarks hadn't worked, frankly. The gang seemed to be actively distancing themselves from me and opting to go witch hunting alone. That sucked a bit, but it was fine for now. We were in a lull where relatively little happened, and I had bigger fish to fry.

How does one earn Kyouko's favor? Perhaps that was a bit too ambitious. Instead, how does one get Kyouko to do you a favor? Was that the same thing? Etymologically speaking, yeah probably, but connotatively those were fucking pretty different. I needed to either threaten her with violence—say, the desecration of her family's burial site—or offer a reward in return for assisting me.

Now, modern psychology asserts that positive reinforcement yields more favorable results than punishment, so bribing her looked like a pretty attractive option. However, in the words of the illusive bastard, Al Capone, you can get much further with a kind word and a gun than with a kind word alone. Perhaps Teddy Roosevelt put it more eloquently with "Speak softly and carry a big stick." Either way, this episode of Sesame Street was clearly brought to us by the number ".50" and the letter "I'm not leaving my fucking Deagle at home for this one."

She was holed up in some derelict radio tower a mile from nowhere. She sat alone, devouring the remains of a convenience store rice ball before tossing the wrapping aside amongst numerous other nondescript empty packages. It was late evening, so her face was illuminated mostly by the dim red glow of the soul gem she idly fiddled with.

In a way, I felt for her. Yellow, blue, and pink were all bright colors. Mami and the others had no trouble using their soul gems as flashlights. But the longer your wavelengths get, the less energy per photon and all that shit. Suffice to say, Kyouko and I got fucking shafted when it came to extra utilities. I know it's not a Swiss army knife, but I think I'm justifiably upset that my soul is only barely bright enough to read by.

"How'd you find me?" Kyouko started in a convincingly menacing tone. "Who might you care to explain your—fuck." She muttered after fumbling her inquiry.

I got a bit excited, but my experience kept me level headed. Kyouko had merely hung a pawn, that was nothing to get ecstatic over.

"Kyubey told me where I might find you." I said coolly. It was a lie. Truth be told, this tower was something of a de facto domicile for the poor little street urchin. I'd met her here a few times before.

She huffed, clearly buying it, as it wasn't totally unreasonable.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Homura Akemi. You can call me whatever you want."

Kyouko rubbed her chin as she sized me up.

"You're a magical girl too, right? What do you want?"

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work. My work consisted of pulling several boxes of pocky out of my shield, one at a time, and stacking them on the floor in front of her. I had many flavors, a keen observer might note.

To her credit, Kyouko looked on without a trace of bemusement, as though she'd seen this song and dance before. I was fairly certain she hadn't, because I wrote this song and choreographed this dance. The pocky routine was an original.

It took me a long ass time. I'd initially thought I could pack a box full of these packages and stuff the whole box into my storage unit, but it didn't even work theoretically. The dimensions were stubbornly unworkable. Even if I'd managed to shove it in, there was no way in hell it would come back out. So I resigned to carrying them in singles. Whatever. Here we were.

When I was finished, I knelt beside the appreciable array of biscuit sticks and said "I'd like a favor Sakura-san."

Kyouko looked at me, then at the pocky, then back at me.

"Are you fucking joking?"

"I've brought you dozens of boxes of frosted biscuit sticks in assorted flavors." I said, undeterred. "Who doesn't appreciate numerous biscuit sticks in assorted flavors?"

"No fucking shit. Why did you fucking do that?"

"As I said, I need a favor."

"And what would that be?" Kyouko demanded, exasperated.

I bit my lip in hesitation. I actually didn't have the most cogent job description prepared as of yet.

In essence, I wanted Kyouko to be like one of those recovering drug addicts, or alcoholics, or those dumb fucks who kill people while texting and driving, who then are made to give presentations to school children on why their behavior was bad. It was like community service but it was spiritually degrading, and in this case, entirely voluntary.

Actually that summed it up pretty well, so that's what I went with.

Imagine a look of wide eyed wonder, except it's actually disgust. That's what Kyouko was bearing when I finished my spiel.

I admired her restraint. At this stage "Are you fucking nuts?" Is practically obligatory, yet jaded and redundant. Instead she just said "No."

Alright. Diplomacy had broken down. It was time for a tactical push in the form of a veiled threat. Really, honestly, that's what the situation called for, and I knew that very well. That's why I'm confused as to how it escalated to me aiming my Deagle at her chest with one hand, holding multiple boxes of pocky out the window with the other, and shouting "I swear to fucking God, I will drop these fucking biscuit sticks if you don't do what I say!"

"Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!" Kyouko blasted, having already transformed. "I'll just fucking grab the boxes later! I don't care!" She held her spear like she was ready to throw it at my throat. It was just posturing. She knew as well as I that I held the high ground.

"Is that so?" I asked slyly. "Say, you ever shoot clay pigeons, Sakura-san?" I said this as I produced three green tea flavored pocky sticks from the package I held.

She looked on despairingly as I threw them in a haphazard arc, or thereabouts, and swung my shooting arm over to dispatch them all.

I'll admit I used a freebee on that one. It wasn't so much a demonstration of skill as it was a vulgar display of power. The effect left little to be desired. Kyouko actually shrieked when the airborne pockys burst into infinitesimal singed crumbs.

"Don't you fucking dare do that again, bitch!" She said, her voice quivering. "I'll fucking kill you if I ever see you wasting food again!"

I smiled coldly.

"Be my guest. I've got plenty of assorted flavors here. We can day this all do—fuck."

In the end, my overly aggressive midgame allowed for an unfortunately prolonged endgame. Which I won, for the record, but it was far too involved for my tastes. A lot of old scars brought into the daylight. A lot of soul baring I could have done without. But I had Kyouko now.

Upon my return to Mitakihara proper, I was greeted with the actualization of what was, at this point, a fairly resolute inevitability. Sayaka had contracted with Kyubey and was now traipsing through the city with Mami dispelling familiars at every turn. She'd also done the liberty of saving Hitomi's ass while she was at it.

Here's the thing about Sayaka.

Her big crush, Kyousuke, used to be a violinist before he fucked up his wrist. Now he can't play, and he's naturally a bit butthurt over it. Sayaka shares this sentiment. Her main plan of action is to bring Kyousuke CD's of various accomplished violin artists so they can listen together through a shared set of earbuds. Not bad. But at a certain point, Kyosuke starts acting like a bitch and accuses her of torturing him by forcing him to listen to shit he'll likely never perform again.

The implication that some entity out there gets their kicks by savoring the tears of young crippled musicians after they've forced them to listen to examples of their former specialties is unquestionably very rich. However, Sayaka sees the indictment as valid, and decides to grant the kid's wrist back with her wish. Honestly, I'm glad that works out for her, but I don't like the position it puts Madoka in.

Thankfully, Madoka had not succumbed quite yet. The beautiful thing about her is that she very rarely contracts unless there is a clear and present danger which cannot be averted in any other way. That's because, by default, she doesn't have anything worth risking her life to wish for. That was all well and good, but it wasn't the biggest thing I had on my plate.

Introducing Kyouko was logistically awkward. There wasn't any instance where it really made sense to suddenly add a member to the party. Oh well. The details could be ironed out later. This was just a proof of concept run anyway.

These girls seemed to like meeting on bridges. Specifically pedestrian overpasses. I couldn't figure why, but that's where we stood. Kyouko's red hair fluttered in the breeze as she leaned against the handrail. She seemed more interested in the half eaten taiyaki in her hand than in her audience as she spoke.

Her audience consisted of Mami, Madoka, Sayaka, and Kyubey. I stood by in attendance. I was sort of the emcee for this little get together as well.

"This contract thing may sound like all that. It certainly did to me, anyways." She started slowly. "You get a wish. Anything in the whole wide world if you asked for it, and damn it, I did."

I had to give her credit. She'd ostensibly had no time to prepare for this little speech but this was proving to be a fucking masterful lead-in.

She took a bite out of her taiyaki and chewed thoughtfully for several seconds.

"It ended up costing me my entire family. Worst part is there's nobody to blame but me." Fucking hell, that was heavy. Surgically precise in tone. This was going beautifully.

"I thought it was a decent wish at the time. I was stupid... So stupid." She popped the rest of the taiyaki into her mouth and swallowed it remarkably fast. "You know what I've got to show for it? Nothin'. No house, no parents, no fuckin' cable television. Just a rusty radio tower, a weird rabbit thing to keep me company, and an endless horde of witches to hunt just to stay alive." She busted open a box of strawberry pocky and jammed a couple into her mouth. "I could be here telling you how you should never, ever, waste your wishes on someone else, a lesson I know from experience, but today this bitch wanted me to tell you not to contract at all." She said, gesturing at me with a pocky stick. "Probably better advice anyway."

I had to stop myself from gaily applauding at the fantastic presentation. I wished the other viewers had the same problem, but the reactions were a bit mixed.

Forget how principally convoluted it is to introduce a new friend to your old ones. That's a thing in itself. In addition, this sure as hell wasn't a new friend, and these gals would be hesitant to call me an old one. Replace this 'new friend' with a 'guest speaker' you've invited for an unsolicited seminar. Everyone is familiar with the subject matter, but the stance you have this speaker take makes you out to be a massive hypocrite, and is an about-face with regards to your previous behavior.

The word is clunky.

If I was a writer, I would not have written the story this way. If I was real life, I would not play out in this fashion. On several occasions, I've made attempts to convey to my fellow transients that I am a time traveler and know what comes to pass in the near future. Hardly ever do they accept that claim on it's face, and that's reasonable to expect. What people need is proof. I can provide circumstantial evidence, like stopping time, or predicting a future event. That sometimes works, but it isn't definitive proof.

What I'd provided with this impromptu magical girl symposium was a determinately contrived situation. I'd confidently assert that anyone missing the signs that I wasn't operating on the same plane of reality clearly couldn't see the forest for the fucking objective lenses strapped to their faces.

Kyouko slowly chewed on her pocky while ostentatiously gazing over her shoulder to view the setting sun in the west.

She and Mami sort of knew each other, through various run ins and/or word of mouth. They didn't really like each other, the opposite scenario being an atrociously high energy configuration, so Mami didn't take kindly to the whole display, and remained tight lipped.

Madoka had questions, and had patiently waited for the Q&A segment to ask them.

"Sakura-san, is it?" She asked politely, receiving only a glance in reply. "What is it you wished for?" Not just an audacious advance in general, but a supremely audacious one when considering the parties involved.

"Jeez..." Kyouko muttered under her breath. "I made a wish for someone close to me. When he found out, he called me a witch, went crazy, and then killed himself." Storytelling at its most elegant.

"I just wanted you to know," Madoka said with Polaris sized stars in her eyes, "That I don't think it was your fault. You shouldn't blame yourself for what happened."

Kyouko's tone became stern and bitter.

"Listen here, miss pigtails, you don't know a damn thing about it. Never use a wish on somebody else. You'll only make things worse than they were. Better yet, don't make a wish at all. A softie like you wouldn't last a week."

This prompted some mild sabre rattling from Sayaka.

"Oh yeah? And what do you know about it, bitch? I oughta teach you a fuckin' lesson about caring for others!" All in attendance, Sayaka included, mused that the threat could have been worded more effectively.

"What did you wish for, huh?" Kyouko retorted cooly. "Probably something silly. You didn't wish for love, did you?"

Mami quite accurately assessed that the situation was rapidly approaching flash point and that swift intervention was required. Before another word could be uttered, she quickly tied Sayaka up with her yellow ribbon and said "We'll be leaving now." before dragging her away. Madoka meekly followed behind. Kyubey stared intently in my direction for a good deal of time before sauntering off to god knows where.

The Sayaka thing was probably gonna be a problem. If I wasn't careful it could actually be a critical issue. I internally shrugged. I'd probably bought myself a week.

Kazamino city was Mitakihara's neighbor. Kyouko grew up there, and it was where her family was buried. She and I happened to find ourselves there, in a graveyard, to pay respects I suppose. Her old house had burned down. At first there were some allegations regarding arson and thus murder, but the case had been promptly dropped as evidence was sparse and no one was left who cared to know.

Her father hadn't been a bad man. Not by a long shot. At the end, though, he was really bad. Really quite unforgivably bad.

There wasn't anything special about the gravestones. They were engraved with names and dates but nothing more. One of these cycles I swore I was gonna come here and etch something like "This deadbeat killed his wife and daughter and then himself because he was a bitch. Seriously, fuck this guy." Not only would that take an exorbitant amount of time, but Kyouko was here too, so that wasn't gonna happen today.

For her part, I don't think she knew what she was doing here. She stood there with her hands in her pockets, a lollipop in her mouth, and a disinterested look on her face. She was here for no other reason, it seemed, than that this is what people did. I hoped it was cathartic in some way, but it didn't fucking look like it was.

"I'm a time traveler." I said as the rain began to pick up.

"No shit." Kyouko replied, her clarity of speech somewhat obstructed by the lollipop. "Anyone with half a brain can see you use time manipulation magic. And what with all this hooey you're going on about, you're either a kook or you've been to the future."

"That's very sound reasoning." I said with no small amount of respect.

"Listen. I don't wanna hear about any of it." She said as she pulled up her hood. "I did my bit here. I'll help you take out that Walpurgisnacht thing, but then I'm done. Got it?"

She walked off without waiting for an answer. Kyouko Sakura was quite possibly the most jaded individual I knew of. And I was me.

Just as well, I suppose.

TO BE CONTINUED