Chapter 9: Waifu with a Knifu

— 29 —

"Shit."

It came out as a breathy whisper. More of an acknowledgement of what was going on than anything else. My heart raced as I looked up at Simone, her weight pressing down on my chest, making it that much harder to breath. With the blood seeping across my face and the pain in my head, the only thing going through my mind was the girl's last words.

Simone smiled a toothy grin at me. I couldn't see the knife past her hair, but I knew it was floating there. "If you admit it," she said, "I might go easy on you."

Easy sounded good right about now.

"Yeah, ya got me. I ain't Greg."

She stared. "I… just like that?"

"Pretty much," I replied carefully, as if she were a poisonous snake prone to biting at the slightest provocation. "You're obviously going to kill me or break all my bones or something, and you happen to be right. Sorta kinda. It's complicated. And there ain't much point in hiding it if it's just going to make things worse."

"Oh." She leaned back, sitting up straighter and blowing hair out of her face. "I had this whole speech lined up and everything. It was going to be awesome."

I just stared up at her, unsure of what exactly to say next. At length, I forced a smile and said, "Feel free to go through with it anyhow if you want. I promise to listen very attentively."

"Now you're just patronizing me." She pouted and playfully slammed a fist down onto my chest. It didn't hurt in the slightest. "So, if you're not Greg, who are you?"

Time to tell the truth—or at least what little I knew.

"Well, one day I was fiddle faffing around, drinking and trying to procrastinate about an online math test as hard as I could. Next thing I know, I'm some half-naked guy face-down on a keyboard. Of course, that was all three months ago." I licked my lips. "And since I have no idea how to undo whatever happened, I've just been living as if I were Greg, more or less."

Silence hung in the air like a tarp.

"So you're just an ordinary guy?" she asked. "Not some super evil body-snatching villain I can beat up to get Greg back?"

"To be fair," I replied, "iffen it worked like that, I reckon it would have happened the second time Bitch beat the shit outta me."

She slumped. "That sucks. And I really wanted to be a hero here, too." Simone floated the knife away, and I heard it clattering into the sink basin. With the blade gone, I allowed myself to exhale slowly.

"Far be it from me to criticize," I said, "but I don't think most heroes are too keen on threatening people with kitchenware. Or going for the eyes like that, for that matter."

"They're not?"

I shook my head.

Simone just looked at me, as if lost in thought.

Meanwhile, I took the time to look her up and down from my lowly vantage point. It seemed to take her a moment to notice, and a further second or so to realize just how compromising a position this was.

"Now that you're not going to murder me," I said, "would you mind getting off my chest?"

She crossed her arms, but I saw a bit of red on her cheeks. "Maaaaaybe. I kind of like it up here. Nice and comfy. Good view."

I pushed her off gently, and she let me. While she got to her feet and brushed herself off, I took the chance to rub my ribs. How much of me was going to bruise? When I looked up, she was offering me a hand.

I brushed her hand aside and stood on my own.

My cheek felt a ways from clotting properly, so I walked over to the sink and ran the tap. Trying not to look at the bloodied knife, I splashed handfuls of water over my face. With any luck, it wouldn't scar.

The sight of blood running down the drain reminded me of the few ought nosebleeds I got every so often during really dry weather. I recalled times in my past life, staring into the sink much like I was now, transfixed as blood washed down the drain.

Had the knife been dirty? Would the cut get infected? Probably not, but to be sure, I used some hand soap to cleanse the wound. It stung a mite bit.

I finished washing my face and reached for the little handtowel sitting there, but paused. No, that wouldn't do; it'd get all bloody. Did the Morgans have any—

A roll of paper towels floated within reach. Simone stood a little to my side, rubbing one arm awkwardly. "Um…"

With a grunt, I took a few sheets from the roll and wiped my face. The white paper towel came back a bit pink. I tossed them in the garbage can before getting new ones to cover the wound.

"Look, Simone," I said, "I think I should get going now. I don't want to be here when your dad gets back, and you'll probably need some time to clean up."

She looked to the fragments of plate still on the ground, where spilled pasta and meat sauce mixed with blood.

I walked past her and into the front room. My boots lay to one side of the door alongside my backpack. Hastily, I put the boots on. And as I was equipping the backpack, Simone caught up with me.

"Hey, wait," she said.

I looked at her expectantly, wondering just what she thought she could say at this point. Haha, it was all a joke? Sorry I knifed your face? I feel bad about scaring you like that?

"If you're not Greg, then what should I call you?"

Or that.

I let the words hang for a minute before I opened the door and stepped outside.

"Maybe you shouldn't call me anything."

— 30 —

By the time I got home, the paper towel had soaked through. I only kept it with me to stop from bleeding all over my clothes. Oh, and because I wasn't a filthy litterbug.

As I went inside, I saw my father, Jerry in the living room. He looked up from his book, cocked a brow, and said, "Well, someone had a fun first day of school."

"Yeah, you could say that."

With a sigh, Jerry closed the book and set it on the table beside him. "You might wanna clean yourself off before your mother sees you and has a heart attack." He gestured with a thumb. "We got some big bandages in the bathroom."

I nodded and went ahead. The hot water on my face felt relaxing, to say nothing of how it washed away the thin red crust from where the cut had dried out a bit. For the second time today, I watched my blood run down the sink.

Standing there, rubbing the wound, I thought of Simone. Bitch was crazy, at least from what little I understood of her. You had to be, in a way, to go from cheery smiles to "stabbing you in the face with a knife" in under three seconds. And after I told her what she wanted, she'd just gone straight back to normal, almost like she'd accepted it and forgiven me in an instant.

Something was seriously wrong with that girl.

I let out a heavy sigh and shut the tap off. I dried my face with a towel—no blood, this time—and eventually found a bandage behind the mirror.

The cut didn't look too bad now; facial wounds just tend to bleed like they're worse than they are. Probably wouldn't scar either, and even if it did, I could just bug the PRT until they got Panacea to heal me. I didn't feel like checking, but I'm pretty sure "annoy Panacea" was somewhere on my grand old todo list from when I first arrived in Worm, and this would be a productive way of checking that one off.

With that happy thought, I opened the bathroom door and found my father still there in his chair. He eyed me as I came into view. "Care to tell me what happened?"

I paused. Without going into detail—"Girl trouble," I explained.

"Ahhh," he sighed. "Been there too. You know your mother actually almost shot me when we first met? Veders are like magnets for crazy chicks."

I just stared at him. That made sense. An uncomfortable amount of sense.

"You should be more careful, though," he said. "And if you need help, you can always ask me."

"Alright? I guess?" I glanced towards the front door. "But I think can handle this on my own. I'm pretty much just going to stay away from her from now on. Although…"

"Yes?"

"You ever think I'll run into a normal, sane girl?"

He laughed. "Not a chance in hell, son."

I sighed. Figures. "Thanks, Dad."

— 31 —

As I saw it, basements were just weird, and having a bed in one, doubly so. See, in Florida, basements didn't exist. Sure, the local university from my pre-Greg days sort of had them, but those had just been buildings dug into the slight hills. (And while we're at it, hills were also really strange in Florida.)

You'd think I'd be used to all the oddities of Brockton Bay by now, but the fact that basements existed here still made me pause and go, "Huh, that's neat" from time to time.

Then again, I was the kinda guy who sometimes did that when thinking of just how much I loved oxygen.

Oh, and Simone was crazy. As much as I tried to distract myself with inane mental rambling while trying to fall asleep, I kept coming back to her.

And with such an ever so cheery thought as that, I checked the time on my phone.

I sighed. It might have felt like a long day, but it was still a bit too early to call it a night.

Now, I could sit here and feel sorry for myself in between spats of thinking about just how cool it was to have hands, or I could anti-angst like a pro. And the latter felt better. After all, I was a man of action! Even if the only action I really cared for was to find girls and annoy them.

With a sigh—er, I mean, newfound determination, I pulled up my sadly short list of contacts and selected the person most unrelated to these events.

Greg: Hey, Dinah! This is Greg, here to save you from the clutches of Captain Boredom—the most insidious and vile of supervillains!

I waited for a moment before getting a response.

Dinah: I take it this is what happens when you have nothing better to do

Greg: You could at least make an effort QQ

Dinah: :sighs:

Dinah: My savior! You're just in time, Weird Puppy Guy Greg! Nothing good is on TV :(

Dinah: :swoons:

Greg: Okay I get it.

Greg: Also, stop watching the boob tube. It rots your brain.

Dinah: You sure? Because I was watching this documentary about a cape who speaks the secret language of crocodiles, living with them and learning their ways. It was really fascinating.

Dinah: Then he got eaten by a crocodile

I sighed, shaking my head.

Greg: You were rooting for that to happen the whole time, weren't you?

Dinah: Well, there could be other reasons for watching it~

In other words, yes.

Dinah: Vista still says Dog Whisperer is better, but I think she's only saying that because the good guys always win

Wait, what? Good guys? I thought the Dog Whisperer was about some Hispanic guy who talked to dogs and made them act good. That sorta made sense to me. Kinda explained why Bitch liked it.

I decided that, at some point, I would have to watch Dog Whisperer just to find out what the fuss was about.

Oh! And if I ever needed Bitch's help, I could just buy the season DVDs and bring them over. I bet she'd love that. Assuming she didn't have them already.

Just watch as part of her contract with Coil was free copies of the DVD box set, with behind the scene features and director and actor's commentary.

Greg: So the two of you are friends now? Also, you figured out who Missy was?

Dinah: Yuppers. And we're gonna have a sleepover this Saturday. It'll be great

Dinah: Oh, and speaking of Vista, she says you really need to check your PHO inbox. Like, right now

Dinah: I'll tell her you said hi

My PHO inbox? I got out of bed and went over to the computer. Also, goddammit, I forgot to unplug it. The thing was still on. I set the phone on the desk and booted up Firefox.

— 32 —

I spent the next few minutes aimlessly surfing my Parahumans Online inbox, which continued to overflow. A part of me was legitimately amazed that the system hadn't decided to start deleting them all to make room for more, or disallowed new messages coming in.

Amongst the stuff I didn't care about—the standard "tell me your secrets" sorta deal, and was that a message from Coil?—I saw one from EmilyPiggot. I stared for a moment, not opening it. Piggot used PHO?

Judging by the "Puppy Arson" in the subject line, this was probably what Vista was referring to.

"Dear Void Cowboy, I'm official, wee! Blah blah blah."—Oh, here's something. Piggot wanted to approach me with an official apology, and to that end, sought to publicly return Puppy Arson this Friday, after school, outside the PRT building. No strings attached.

Huh.

Going back, I'd also received a letter from Armsmaster. It seemed to just be an incredibly generic apology, where he had clearly inserted "stealing your puppy" over places that no-doubt had "[insert transgression here]" before.

It ended with: "I deeply regret any inconvenience / damage / mental anguish my actions may have caused.

"Sincerely, Armsmaster."

I had to wonder if an automated program wrote that. If we ever met, I was going to ask him.

More to the point, this all seemed too easy. No threats, no negotiation, just returning what's mine. And considering the PRT probably didn't like me very much, and deeply wished to prod my special place with needles until I told them the future, well—let's just say that in the parahuman career, paranoia was nothing but an advantage.

I leaned back, thinking of how to safeguard myself. I mean, I wanted my dog back, no doubt, but this?

An idea struck me.

I scrolled up through my inbox until I reached the one I was sure came from Coil. In typical snake-like English, he was basically offering me a "consulting" job, good pay, and other stuff I was too lazy for.

My reply was simple: "What's Lisa's number?"

I dicked around for ten minutes before Coil replied.

This_Mortal_Coil: How about a win-win? I give you her number, and she asks you a few questions on my behalf.

He sent me Tattletale's number before I could reply.

No pretenses, no playing dumb, no bullshit. I could respect that.

XxVoid_CowboyxX: ty

This_Mortal_Coil: np

I blinked. I really hoped that was an ironic np. If not, Coil was far worse than I'd thought!

I reached over to a bottle of water took a drink before entering the number, which I saved as "Lisa", into my phone.

She answered on the first ring.

"Okay, first things first," she said, "Coil wants you to prove that you're for real by saying what his power really is."

"Tattletale, I am offended," I replied. "Not even so much as a 'howdy-doody, chumo'. You just jump straight to lying."

"It's pretty much a habit at this point," she said casually. "So, why'd you call me up at ten o'clock at night? Boss said I have to take what you say 'with the utmost seriousness.'"

I sat down on my bed, a smile creeping over my face. I couldn't resist. "What are you wearing?"

She hung up.

I crossed "annoy Tattletale" off my mental checklist for the night. Then I speed dialed her again.

"I hate you," she said upon picking up.

"Love ya too, snookums," I purred.

"I know you're doing this just to annoy me."

I grinned. "It's pretty much—"

"'A habit at this point,' right," she groused. I could practically hear the eye roll.

"Anyways, I got a problem." In as few words as possible, I explained to her my situation with Puppy Arson and the PRT.

As I went on, I could hear her typing. Thirty seconds later, she finished with a particularly fast series of keystrokes and let out a quiet, "Ah ha. Seriously? Wow."

"Stop fantasizing about me and actually help," I said.

"Shut up," she snapped. "Your password is Gunslinger1982. You don't get to speak."

I waited, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. It was probably futile, but that's never stopped me before.

I also wasn't going to change my password.

"Okay, look," she said at last, "so the thing with the dog isn't a trap, or at least not the kind you're worried about. Piggot is sincere about returning the puppy, since it doesn't benefit them to keep him, and it's making them look worse by the day. I think orders from up on high may have been involved at some point as well."

I heard some more clicking, then a pause.

"Huh. Turns out Armsmaster does have a program in his helmet to automatically send out half-assed apologies. Aaand now I owe Regent a hundred bucks. Fuck."

I got up and went back to the computer. "Speaking of Regent, mind giving me his cell number?"

"Why?" she asked.

I shot Piggot a PM, agreeing to the Friday thing. "So I can call him and we can go bro-out together at that place that does your hair."

"Lebeau Cheveux?" She let out a long, pained sigh, then gave me the number. I wrote it down quite happily.

"Oh, and another thing. Mind being my plus one to the Puppy Arson thing?"

Silence came from the other end.

"Actually," she said eventually, "I was thinking I'd just stay home that night, lie in a bathtub filled with bubbles up to my chin, and drink until I can forget I ever knew you." She sighed. "But since that amount of drinking would probably kill me—and because I want to see Armsmaster when he gives his mandatory 'apology' speech—yes."

"Also," I said, "because I could just get your boss to make you. Probably."

Tattletale sighed again. She seemed to do that a lot when I was involved. "Goodnight, Void Cowboy."

"Wait, wait, wait," I interjected. "Weren't you supposed to ask me some questions on the boss' behalf?"

"Huh. So I was."

Tattletale hung up.

a/n Well what do we have here? To use part of a comment from Spacebattles on this chapter (luv you Char-Nobyl):

Poor Simone. Literally within seconds of confronting Greg with the knowledge that (even though she actually likes him) she knows he isn't the Greg she met online, he reveals what is possibly the worst possible response: he's well aware, has no idea why it happened, and he's completely blameless in it happening in the first place. Old!Greg is, as far as Simone knows/is concerned, dead. She never got to meet him in person or even see what he looked like, so New!Greg is essentially a completely different (and if we're being honest, about as worse of a) person than Old!Greg. Not only that, but a completely different person that A) she liked B) liked her and C) her father liked, or at least tolerated. Given what she's probably used to, bringing home a boy, cooking him dinner, and having him hit it off with her fiercely protective dad may as well be a freaking Disney princess fantasy romance for her.

...and because she made an assumption and tried to be a hero, her new friend has apparently cut ties with her, and she's left to clean up a kitchen full of broken, bloody reminders of how her actions took one of the best days of her life and turned it into one of the worst.

But hey, Greg got to cross annoy Tattletale off his list. So I guess that's a karmic neutral day!

Comment of the Day: Geeknasty

Simoneyandere waifu
Taylortsundere waifu
Dinah/Missyloli wai.. just kidding!

I'm starting to think the simurgh's plot involves turning SIGreg into a parahuman harem king.

Trust me, man, that's a terrible idea. I, Greg's damsels all bring distress. Taylor is the scary snark girl. Simone is the waifu with a knifu. Dinah is a blackmailing little sister scamp. Sophia is Sophia. Emma... well, she has boobs, so there's that—no, wait, focus, she's a bad person, don't get distracted, Greggy boy! I mean, Tattletale looks good in that skintight costume and is really fun to annoy, so there's that.

Point is, you don't want to touch any of the girls in I, Greg. I'm pretty sure Taylor bites!