JOSHUA TRIPS
CHAPTER TWELVE: IN WHICH THE JOSHES HAVE A NEKU
The Story So Far: Joshua and Neku have planar-jumped into an alternate dimension full of weirdo clone robot things. Neku helped Joshua realize that the current plot thread was kind of not important, and apparently Joshua has a plan to escape because of it – a plan that involves a crystal keychain, a laptop, and USB internet – but he got sidetracked by Sota's red pickup truck and now Neku has to do the shopping. This would be fine, were it not for the fact that Players (Nekus) are not allowed to have electronics – he'll have to prove that he's not a Player to several idiots and a baby crocodile in order to get a computer! How will he prove himself? Well, duh. Through violence, of course! I don't care what Rhyme thinks, violence is ALWAYS the answer!
Rating: Rated T for Terrapin.
OF NOTE IN THIS CHAPTER: Take a wild guess. You fangirls will be so happy...ugh...
Genre: Parody/Adventure
"Bring it."
No sooner had Neku Sakuraba spoken - Team Masa-Enojo-Aki-Ta cracked a synchronized smirk, a cocky display that reminded the Proxy of the Joshes. Neku felt a quiver of dread in the depths of his stomach, but he ground it into space dust the second it made itself known. There was to be no hesitation here. Neku knew how to fight, being a bit of an alley cat, and the first rule was to never show fear. Intimidation was half the battle. The instant he showed a flicker of weakness, the enemy would swoop in and beat him into a bloody pulp. No thanks. Neku kept his glare on its coldest setting, staring down the opponents.
There were four of them, if you'll recall from the last chapter; four fighters and a baby crocodile that looked extremely P.O.'ed about the current state of affairs. Masanori Ito, Shinta Iwata, Beat Bito, and a suspiciously feminine guy with glasses. They each exuded an aura of raw, undiluted cockiness, and Neku had a strange flash of premonition – suppose these guys...well, they were supposed to be "law enforcers;" didn't that mean they fought Nekus for a living...?
Neku swallowed. Weakness! All inner weakness must be eradicated. Yes, the team may have fought Neku clones for a living... but he wasn't like those other ones, now was he? From the looks on their faces, the members of Team MEAT didn't seem too aware of this fact. And he could use this to his advantage.
The two opposing parties circled each other for a moment or two, each waiting for the other to strike first, like a bizarre game of chicken. Neku slid easily into "battle mode;" he relaxed his muscles, stepped lightly on the balls of his feet, and opened up his senses. Observation. Observation of the enemy, observation of the battlefield. He took note of the slight irregularity in Shinta's steps, the close proximity of the shelves, and the distant cries and scuffles of the Neku clones. He took it all in, let the familiar electric feeling wash over him.
When it came down to it, it was just like a Noise Reduction. Only, he didn't have to scrub his opponents out of the fabric of reality. Well, that was a relief.
"Four against one?" he found himself saying. "That seems a little unfair."
"Au contraire, kid," drawled Shinta. "There's four of us, and five gazillion of you."
They remained at a stalemate for a few seconds longer – until it was rudely interrupted by a flying brick, closely followed by a flying Joshua, courtesy of the Neku clones – and it was as if the gun had gone off. Neku and Team MEAT charged forth at the same instant, each loosing a wild barbarian battlecry. "Haaaaaaaghh!"
Well, it started that way.
Glasses-guy duked left, Shinta duked right, and Masa dove between Neku's legs. Suddenly, Neku was the only one left, directly in the path of an incoming Beat Bito – the skater came at him like a bullet train, fists swinging and sunglasses glinting. Neku squeaked, jumped, twisted in midair; but even so Neku only just managed to dodge a third degree Beat-to-the-head, slamming into the ground back-first. Beat was thrown off-balance for a split second, but that was all Neku needed. He lifted his legs up, swung forward, used the momentum to launch himself into Beat's back, and sent him sprawling to the floor. One down.
No sooner had Neku managed to fell the first attacker when – SCHWING! SCHWING! He had to snap his head back to avoid having his nose amputated by two throwing stars – no, wait, those weren't shuriken, they were...CDs? Neku barely had time to register the image of Masa, standing there, holding twin demonic CD-launching walkmen and grinning like a jack-o'-lantern, before – SCHWINGSCHWINGSCHWINGSCHWING – he was forced to backflip away from an incoming battery of iridescent projectiles. He hit the ground, sensed someone coming from his right, and ducked just in time to dodge a dragon kick into the milky way. Shinta grumbled ("Not cool, bra...") and tried to follow up with a spinning crescent kick, but – Neku dodged that one too, took advantage of Shinta's weak leg, and slammed into the poor guy shoulder-first. Shinta's balance shattered like glass, and he went sailing to the ground. Neku stumbled, gasped. This was a lot more tiring than he remembered...
He straightened up and tried to get back in battle position – and suddenly, he was knocked over by a tremendous WHAP to the back. Neku hit the ground, shoved himself to his feet – and was WHAP'd again, collapsing to the floor. He rolled over, wincing, and took in his attacker – the glasses-guy, wielding a Yaoi paddle. Well, I'll be dipped. Neku noticed something at once - Hey, he's using the uke side...!
Hell hath no fury like a Neku hit by the uke side of a Yaoi paddle, and our Neku was no exception to this rule. He snarled, leapt to his feet, and tackled the glasses-guy like a starving tiger. Glasses-guy shrieked in surprise, slammed into the ground, had the wind knocked out of his/her lungs – and in that moment, Neku wrestled the paddle out of his enemy's clutches. He scrambled to his feet, gave the weapon an experimental swing...and proceeded to rain hell down upon Masa and Beat, cackling evilly to himself.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
I can see why people like these things. That sound is so satisfying... Neku's thoughts were oddly zenlike, contrasting sharply with the hurricane of fists he was trying to WHAP into submission. Beat finally managed to grasp the shaft of the goddamn thing and brought it down over Neku's kneecaps, cracking it in half. Hey...!
Neku glowered at the splintered rod of wood in his hand, tossed it over his shoulder. Useless.
"We gonna fight, we gonna fight like men," sneered Beat, spitting into the corner for emphasis. "Na' like friggin' Yowie fanrappers."
"...Whatever," said Neku, not quite understanding what a Yaoi paddle had to do with the rapping fans of Australian cryptids. Beatisms have a tendency to sometimes fly over your head in the thick of battle. "Let's get this over with."
Beat proceeded to own Neku ass for a few minutes.
"ARGH! Not this again," Neku moaned, crumpled into a vicious, unforgiving stranglehold. He recognized this maneuver from his little scuffle last night, and was unpleasantly reminded who exactly had done the deed.
"Yo man! You callin' me particuble? I've had it up to HERE with perictable!" And Beat squeezed harder.
Beat squeezed Neku so hard that a curious thing happened. A crushing pressure built inside Neku's body, and WHAM – he went shooting out of Beat's grasp like toothpaste in a tube. "Ouch...well, that sentence sounded oddly dirty..." Neku grumbled crossly, staggering to his feet. He was sore all over, and he was getting tired. Conversely, his opponents barely had a single scratch on their collective personage. Neku needed a plan – and fast, he thought, dodging a swinging fist from Beat and tumbling out of the line of CD fire, only to be greeted by a tag-team bonk from Shinta and Glasses-guy, which was only avoided by a hair-thin margin.
This was getting ridiculous.
"That's odd. You Players – huff – are usually – ugh, hold STILL - crying Uncle by now," said Masanori, casually trying to cut Neku with a spinning buzz saw-esque CD.
"I told you, I'm not a part of this idiotic Game!" Neku protested, dodging the blow with a sort of trip-stumble. To his credit, he managed to make it look intentional.
The boy barely managed to get up before he had to duck again. "C'mon, kid. Give it up," Shinta drawled, launching a stellar flurry of jabs at Neku's poor abused head with a bored expression on his scrubbly face.
Neku backhanded Shinta viciously in the guts, sending him sprawling. ("You messed up my groove, man! You gotta respect the groove!") He sweep-kicked Masa's feet out from under him, jumped over the clerk, and tackled the approaching bespectacled threat. "Seriously, how long do I have to fight you guys?" he croaked, throat dry. Glasses-guy looked at him with hatred brimming in those liquid brown eyes, and Neku felt an inexplicable wave of despair.
"How long...?" Glasses-guy repeated blankly. "Until we beat you, duh!"
Neku suddenly felt a sharp crack of pain in his shoulder – the numb connection of a solid hit, followed by a bloom of mind-engulfing flames. Arms weakening, resolve weakening, Neku allowed himself to be kicked off of the Glasses-guy's chest and onto the cold, gritty tile. He lay there, trying desperately to get to his feet – but he couldn't. He just couldn't.
A ring of faces closed in around him – Shinta's cold look of disapproval, Masa's disgusted sneer, Beat's smug grin, and Glasses-guy's expression of purest loathing. They hated him. They hated him. "Neku Sakuraba" meant nothing; he was just another one of those clones to them, wasn't he? Neku groaned feebly and shut his eyes, unable to get up. Unwilling, maybe.
The truth was, the idea that Neku's friends would hate him for being Neku was...painful. Neku hadn't really felt the full force of it until he saw the look, the look in Glasses-guy's eyes; as if he were a filth-encrusted rodent of unusual size. Considering who Neku suspected Glasses-guy might be, this was particularly soul-crushing.
And so, Neku closed his eyes, braced himself, and waited for the beating to come.
Only, it didn't. Neku cracked an eye open.
The members of Team MEAT were still staring at him in disgust, but it was...different. Incredulous disgust. And Masanori had extended his hand to the confused boy, as if proposing a peace treaty.
Neku tentatively reached up and took the offered hand, and Masa helped haul him to his feet. Neku blinked owlishly, bewildered.
"The trutfh ith," lisped Glasses-guy after a moment of awkward silence. "Out of all the Nekuth..."
"You're the only one we've ever fought," Masa finished, looking a little uncomfortable. "See, the other ones just listen to our introduction, scowl, and stomp away, but...we..."
"We trained hella hard anyway, man," Beat put in. "All the time, working on our attack stretcheties, jussin case they might try somethin'...but we never got to use any a' them."
"'Till you came." Shinta stroked his stubble thoughtfully. (He did not look as strangely accepting as the others; this may or may not have had something to do with the backhand.)
"And, uh..." Masa fidgeted self-consciously. "Well, we don't exactly know the protocol for this...so..."
"Thith ith unprethedented!"
"Totally."
"Dunno what's happenin' to this world, yo."
Masanori sighed and awkwardly patted Neku on the shoulder. "I'm sorry. I guess we got a little excited in the heat of the moment, y'know? But, what I'm trying to say here is, uh...thanks."
"Thanks?" Neku was a little rattled by the abrupt 180-degree turn things had taken.
Glasses-guy nodded. "Yeah, thankth! Although, I'm gonna have to carve a new paddle..."
General murmurs of agreement all around. Masanori shrugged. "We were getting a little...stressed, I get. Dissent in the ranks, right? We needed this."
Neku did not know quite what to make of this development...but then he remembered that one time, when he, Beat, and Shiki had gone camping...and it all made sense. On that particular adventure, things had started out smoothly enough; but, after a certain amount of time in the company of anyone – friend or foe, or even partner - you begin to get irritated. It's only natural. In fact, Neku had spent the majority of his Game in a constant state of irritation, the levels varying from day to day and reaching an apex midway through Joshua's week.
The team had obviously begun to get fed up with each other's company. They needed to make common cause against something, rekindle the old bonds, and all that. Neku nodded sagely; after all, this was all covered in section 3a of Friendship for Sociopaths.
"I gotcha," he said.
"Good, good. No hard feelings, right?" Masa grinned. "We still hate the Nekus, but...only the ones who treat us like we don't matter. You...I guess you're okay." Masa threw a glance over his shoulder at his teammates. "Right guys?"
General murmurs of agreement. The AMX clerk turned back to Neku and grinned. "See? S'okay. You can hang."
"I don't need to hang," Neku said, suddenly remembering his whole reason for being here. "I need to buy a computer!"
Team MEAT exchanged glances. "Well...maybe we can bend the rules. Just this once."
Through the combined efforts of our Joshua and Sota Honjo, the pickup truck was repaired. Nay, it was improved! The Composer worked his fancy magic all over the truck's inner workings, and in no time the engine was purring like a kitten.
Well, sort of. The guts of the pickup were strangely a lot more complicated than the model one Josh had at home. He had to call in Sota's help, but Sota had no idea, having focused all his time on hair-cuttery. They stuck their hands in and poked around a little, but neither of them really wanted to mess with anything. In fact, Joshua was a little worried about that one wire he'd rerouted. Of course, he didn't show it, and Sota remained none the wiser. Both the manguro and Joshua got covered in icky grease up to their elbows, and soon their shirt and pants legs were smeared with black gunk, much to their collective dismay. Joshua insisted that they take a break, and one break turned into many when Josh discovered the box of butterscotch candies hidden amongst the groceries. It probably wasn't the best idea to eat them with greasy hands, so Josh had to defile his jeans with black goo repeatedly. Oh, well. The denim was dark enough to handle a few smudges. He really couldn't summon enough pissiness to care; after all, he was nestled in the old, warm-smelling cabin of a Red Pickup Truck, the worn upholstery soft on his hands, a butterscotch sweet melting delicious sweet-salty flavor all over his tongue, with the added security of grocery bags piled around him like a plastic bag fortress. Joshua closed his long-lashed eyes in bliss. Life simply did not get much better than this.
Well, it did; but you gotta take what you can get, you know?
Speaking of the grocery bags, Joshua discovered many things of interest while snooping around in them. For one thing, there was a box of tampons. ...Weird. But more importantly, there was a small plastic container of adhesive medical strips, a tube of Neopetsorin, and a bottle of Smilinol cold & allergy relief. While Sota was standing around outside, trying to puzzle out the inner workings of a Red Pickup Truck, Joshua took a moment to get his face fixed up in the rear-view mirror, redo his messed-up ponytail, and popped a couple of pills while he was at it. Blehh. Josh hated medicine, but..at least it was better than shedding his stomach lining out through his nose. Then, he hopped out and went to help Sota – judging from the way the tall guy was glaring at the motor, the Imprinting was wearing off.
A little while later, they were taking yet another break. Sota sat in the driver's seat, gunning the motor with a look of satisfaction sitting on his face, despite the fact that they really hadn't done anything but move a wire. The door was flung wide and Joshua was sticking his ponytailed head in; however, his pitiful height did not complement the elevated pickup's, and his eyes were darting around barely a centimeter above Sota's knee.
"She works," breathed Joshua, smiling stupidly. He'd always wanted to say that.
"She works, yah?" said Sota, grinning with an equal amount of blissful idiocy. It wasn't too out of character for him, because Sota was kind of a dip.
"Mmm..." Sucking on his seventeenth butterscotch candy, Joshua suddenly had a brainwave. "Hey, Mister Sota, could we...you know...'take her for a spin?'"
Sota patted the seat next to him, the seat covered in grocery bags. "Sure thing, little bro. Hop on in!"
Joshua stifled a squeal of glee and composed himself. He tried to crawl over Sota's knees while keeping his air of cool dignity, but by this point it was pretty much only out of habit.
"Where to?" Sota asked, shutting the door and grinning artificially. The corners of his mouth twitched uncertainly.
Joshua Imprinted with all his might. This Sota guy wanted him out. If only he was back in his own world, this wouldn't be a problem...ever wondered why so many red pickup trucks seem to be driving around in that Game? "Oh, I don't know. Maybe just...drive around a little?" He smiled his starriest smile and hoped that his childishly weak brainwashing would pull through.
It did. "Cool," said Sota, the flickering resistance in his eyes melting away. Joshua breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness Neku wasn't here, or he'd be preaching all over the place about how Imprinting is mind control and mind control is wrong. The poor purple punk had no idea that his personal hero was somewhat of a pro-Imprinting activist, one who mixed his spray paints with generous amounts of the ESPer equivalent of MSG. …And anyway, Joshua had never ridden in a pickup truck before. His scavenger nature prevented him from missing an opportunity such as this.
Sota started the truck for real this time, and it roared to life with the most pleasing of guttural rumbles, lunging forward prematurely. Joshua felt his seat vibrate jerkily, felt his cheeks pull back into a clownish grin. This – was - awesome.
The truck rumbled along for a little ways, almost painfully slow. The Joshes milling about in the street took notice and fled for their lives, dragging their Nekus along like they were enormous, fussy handbags. Joshua didn't let that bother him and instead focused on how wonderfully high he felt right now. When the street was mostly clear, Sota grabbed the clutch shift or some other car mechanism and plowed onward at a more normal speed. (The author doesn't know how to drive, but neither did Joshua, so everything's okay.) The truck was of the age that every bump and crease in the asphalt translates into a startling jolt in the chassis, and Joshua relished every one with an almost weird feeling of pleasure soaring in his heart. "Hee, hee...it's bouncy!" Joshua clamped his mouth shut to prevent any more idiocy escaping the confines of his soul and further defiling his public image. But hey, the kid liked to bounce. It was the closest thing he could get to jumping, after all.
Familiar buildings rolled by, enmeshed in unfamiliar rose-vines. AMX gave way to Tipsy Tose Hall gave way to Shibu-Q Heads...and then Udagawa. And there, Joshua was slam-dunked back into reality with a jolt.
"S-stop the car!" he cried, jumping up. Sota hit the brakes, but Joshua had already jumped ship and was running. Running, running, running. Ugh. This was so tiresome.
But it was necessary. Joshua clambered up the steps, dashed past the Cyco Records store, past the Wild Boar outlet, and scrabbled up towards the CAT mural.
Or what was left of it, anyway.
A shimmering wall of rippling amber sliced rudely across the Udagawa backstreets, as if the sky had decided to stop here. It fluctuated and rippled like a mix between heavy fabric and mercury, crackling with a yellow haze of static electricity. But that was not the thing that commanded Joshua's attention. No, it was the mural. The mural, standing just outside of the golden wall, was a crumbling wreck – the shattered, dirty skeleton of a concrete rainbow. The colors that Josh could make out through the sheet of translucent gold were faded, brown, streaky. They looked...melted, somehow. And look – Joshua strained his eyes to see through the thick yellow lens – the rest of the city was no better. Drifts of sand nestled between barren, twisted ribs of iron, chunks of asphalt littering the ground like splatters of blood, broken buildings slashing the sky like jutting fangs...and there was not a soul to be seen.
"What happened?" Joshua muttered to himself, practically pressing his nose against the golden wall. It was like the world had ended. And yet, Shibuya remained...protected, perhaps, by this golden force-field thingy?
Joshua wrinkled his nose in disbelief, thinking of the Ikebukuro and Shinjuku Composers, who used to pull his gorgeous hair and speak to him in baby-talk every time he had to go to ComposerCon. What had happened to them...? And then, of course, he thought of the Composers of all other parts of Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka...and all of Japan, and all of Asia, and all of the world...and the Realgrounders, the Undergrounders, the Players, the Reapers, the Producers - hell, even the Noise...
No, no. Surely – surely the entire world had not been wiped out. Maybe it was just...over here. Maybe...
But from here, looking at the lonely devastation of Udagawa through a shimmering golden-glass guillotine, it sure felt otherwise.
Joshua stared at the parched remains until he could bear it no longer. He turned around to go back, but, for the final shock of the afternoon, Sota had left. Well, Joshua had kind of barged in without asking...and eaten half the box of butterscotch sweets...and crawled all over his truck, reconnecting wires and flexing his brainwashing muscle...Joshua groaned.
Welcome to karmic retribution, Joshy. Oh, heaven, I need some tennis shoes.
Back in the Pig Sigil Motel, something was happening.
Or about to happen, anyway. Sitting alone in his motel room, Neku N788-9567 could feel it – growing in his brain circuits, that strange, budding feeling of paranoia.
These days, it always took hold of him when he was alone; stinging petals of fear, blossoming in his chest like a poisonous night-lily. He was always so scared, so lonely.
Why? It had to be those other Neku units. He hated the other Nekus, he hated them – they were a constant reminder of the inescapable faults, a million fragmented reflections of his worst qualities. Being an easily annoyed, angry loner was hardwired into the "Neku" personality program. You couldn't change it, no matter what your emotional center – your "heart," as it was described in those compilations of scannable information, those things known as books – wanted. He couldn't open up to people. He couldn't be nice to the Realgrounders, he couldn't make friends.
N788 just had to exist with the knowledge that he couldn't change, that he wasn't special at all. He was just another one of the Neku drones, just another sheep in the herd, with the same personality and appearance as everybody else. He existed to amuse Joshes, to give them points. He was a clone. There was nothing unique about him, nothing special, nothing important. He was worthless, really.
And so, he lived with the constant fear that he would be scrapped and tossed away like the worthless piece of junk he was. The clone was inconsequential, after all; it would only be a matter of time before he was "had," whatever that meant. Nobody would even notice he was gone, would they? There were a million others exactly like him. He would be erased without ever knowing what it was to be appreciated, without ever knowing what it felt like to be powerful and exciting and unique. Without ever knowing what a friend was, that desirable of desirables. How awful. It filled him with a lonely sort of melancholy. (Existential angst was also a key part of the personality program.)
The Neku clone sat cross-legged on his bed, tugging at his bangs idly. He was staring out the window, but not processing any of the visual data; no, N788's calculations at the time were more of the introspective kind. He had lasted for roughly four months in the Game, according to his internal clock, but he hadn't gotten a single Joshua yet. He knew that he had to obtain points if he wanted to Win. The Joshes had to be erased in order to obtain points. It was all very simple. They were The Enemy.
And yet...the Joshes...
They...when they talked to him, they said illogical things. They said he was delicious, mouth-watering, desirable. Him - out of every Neku in the Game, they chose him. They thought he was a desirable. By that logic, all other Nekus should have been desirable, but the Joshes only seemed to care about N788, about him. They brought him cheesecake, they brought him the tasty Mako Synergy drink, they brought him smiles and kind words and soft laughter and admiring eyes. They made him feel...special. Wanted. Desirable. Unique. Desirable.
Laying in their arms, in their adoring eyes, N788 couldn't help but feel like the king, the idol, the center of the solar system. They thought he was special! They chose him! To be important to someone, to matter...that was the Most Desirable Thing, was it not? It did not matter that the Joshes were The Enemy. They were his...they were his friends.
He liked them. They were nice to him, they were good to him. N788 smiled to himself, a strange action that felt weird in his face muscles. He didn't do it often; after all, it was not required by his personality program.
N788 did not feel very safe without his Joshes. He was lonely and scared without his Joshes surrounding him, he felt worthless without his Joshes telling him he was special and important. He felt lonely and scared right now, but the simple act of remembering his Joshes's faces was enough to make him feel a little better. It was not very hard, because they had only one face between the six of them. He smiled again at this thought, because it was a silly thought; all of his Joshes were different, even though they had the same face. One of them was kind of shy, one of them did all the baking, one of them was kind of mean but had a soft heart, one of them was really good at massages, one of them was just plain nice, and the last one was sort of like the leader. Friends!
The Neku clone laid down on his bed, smiling to himself yet. He was staring at the ceiling, but not processing any of the visual data; no, N788's calculations at the time were more of the introspective kind. He had lasted for roughly four months in the Game, according to his internal clock, but he hadn't gotten a single Joshua yet. So of course he had no way of knowing.
N788 heard a knock on the door, and sat up quickly. Who was that? His Joshes were the only ones that held him in any regard, but the receptionist Joshua sometimes came by to ask if he was Doing Okay. N788's careful smile turned into a grimace, because that annoying receptionist always pinched his cheeks. The Neku clone decided to go check through the peep-hole - if his visitor was the receptionist Joshua, he would definitely not open the door; but if it happened to be his Joshes, then he would! Ha-ha!
He pushed himself off the bed with a rustling of sheets and padded over to the door busily. So, then. Getting up on his tip-toes and peering through the little round window, he saw, with no shortage of delight, that there were six Joshua units standing outside. N788 quickly undid the latch and threw the door wide, smiling nervously. "Hello, Joshes."
"Hello, Ne~kun!" they sang in chorus.
N788 let them inside and closed the door, still smiling. "What brings you here today?" he asked.
The Joshes didn't go over and sit on the bed, like they usually did. They stood, grouped in the middle of the room, a synchronized smirk plastered on their flawless faces. N788 noticed dimly that one Josh was missing. Huh.
"Well, Nekky-dear," said the usually-sixth Joshua. "Actually, we're here...because of you."
"So, did you just come by to say 'hi' or something?" N788 blinked slowly, tipping his head, a kittenish look coming about him.
"Oh, no, no, no." All of the Joshes shook their heads in unison. "No, darling. No!"
Josh #6's smile widened. "This is a special occasion." It was strange that the eerily wide grin did not seem to reach his eyes.
"Very, very special, Nekky-dear!"
N788 felt a fog of confusion roll in over his mind. "Why? What's going on...?"
The Joshes began to advance upon him, smiling and tittering. "This is a very special day, indeed!" They kind of pushed him backwards, away from the doors and windows, away from the available exits. N788 walked along obligingly, still feeling very confused – what were they doing? This wasn't like them...but...they just looked so serene, it was hard to not let yourself be swept up in their current. They made him feel so relaxed. Usually they all sat on the bed, because that was more comfortable, but hey - maybe they were going to do something new.
The Joshes were all talking at once. "Today is the day..."
"...the day that we fulfill our claim!"
"...the day our pact becomes complete!"
"...the day we achieve absolute unity!"
"Hee, hee!"
N788 didn't know what that meant, or why they insisted on pushing him back against that wall. They pressed against him from all sides, eyes wide and pupils black, hot breath tickling his skin sensors in puffs. He fidgeted uncomfortably. Something was wrong...
"Wh-what are you doing?" he blurted, feeling a very abrupt and unwelcome pinch on his thigh. Hey, there was no need for-
Josh #6 sidled up to him, draping his slight self over the Neku unit's chest with a strange light shining in his eyes. N788 quivered at the contact, curling back against the wall - cringing away from those strange eyes – only to have his face tenderly cupped in his friend's hands. "We're taking back what is ours, dear," said the clone, his pretty pink lips curling into a fond smile. He stroked N788's cheek lovingly, running his carefully sharpened nails over the Neku's soft, soft cheeks.
All of a sudden there were hands all over him, stroking his arms and his abdomen and his chest-
N788's eyes fluttered closed, and he inhaled sharply. Wh-what...this was...definitely...new... His sensors were sending colorful bursts of sensation all across his mind's eye, strange spidery feelings were tickling up and down his backbone – but something was wrong, so wrong...
...So why did it feel so right?
"This is what you were built for, my dear," Joshua #6 whispered, smiling sweetly. He cradled N788's face in his cold, gently humming hands, stared lovingly into the Neku's eyes for one long moment, and with one swift wrist motion and a sickening crack he snapped the clone's neck.
A faint glimmer of surprise flickered in the Neku's eyes for an instant and froze. The impatient rubbing ceased, cold Joshua hands resting on select patches of skin.
"Alright, boys." Joshua #6 surveyed his salivating, twitching comrades with approval. "Have at it."
Immediately, the pack activated. Their pupils dilated so wide their eyes looked black; their nostrils flared; their skin crumpled and stretched as their lips twisted back in impossibly wide grins, full of glittering teeth. The Joshes seemed to become one, a bloodthirsty hydra of the deep and the dark. A ring of predator smiles bore down on the Neku with lightning speed, fangs ripping cloth away, nail-talons puncturing the skin and digging deep in the flesh, the delicious, delectable, delightful flesh full of all that rich red blood...
Joshua #6 took a step backward and sat down on the bed, trying to keep himself from activating. Despite his desire to join his fellows and rip this ugly cattle apart - to shovel handfuls of velvety, bloody Neku meat into his mouth, savoring the acid taste; to drink richly of the pus and fat that lingered tantalizingly below the skin; to lick the lining from the intestines and chew the marrow out of cracked-ivory bone – he could not indulge himself, not tonight. Pamela, beautiful, beautiful Pamela had called for his presence. It was custom to fast for a day prior to an audience with the Rose Maiden.
It was quite a shame that the Neku was scheduled for today; Joshua #6 had been quite looking forward to having this one. In only a few moments, the rest of his pack had shredded every scrap of clothing on the Neku's body, huffing irritatedly. ("I just despise the shells, don't you?") The gangly corpse slumped against the wall, limp and white and fragile, the ID tattoo harsh against his milky skin. Red cuts on his arms from the Joshes' antsy fingernails stood out like hateful black marks, oozing beads of still-warm blood. And the smell! The smell of it alone was so tantalizing – metallic and salty, it curled into your throat like cotton, almost until you could feel sheets of it clotting on your tonsils in wormlike trails. Joshua #6 sighed wistfully, watching his packmates salivating over the Neku.
They took off their own clothes – didn't want the blood to spot them, now, did they? They dumped the Neku's limp, lifeless form upon the dirty floor, where he lay like the corpse of a young white calf. Nobody would notice a few extra stains on the already-scab-colored carpeting; anything and everything would be swallowed up by the sea of filthy wine-red. The Joshes flexed their fingers, prepared to put their specially-sharpened nails to good use –
- and fell to bickering almost at once.
"All right, since it's my turn, I get to-"
"I beg your pardon? It's my turn to have the first bit!"
"No, no! It's mine!"
"Oh, come off it, you pig! You had half the last one, fat bitch that you are, and you drooled all over the cheeks-"
"You're the pig, Twoey! You're all pigs! When was the last time I got to have the first part of one of these things, hm? It's been months-"
"HEY!" shouted Joshua #6. His packmates all jumped and looked at him crossly, with their black, soulless eyes and shark mouths. "You're acting like children! All of you, children!"
Josh #2 bared his fangs, growling. A glimmering strand of saliva spilled over his lip and dangled freely, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. "Children this and children that! What does that word even mean, dumb bitch?"
"Shut up, you insubordinate sack of aphid diarrhea. Three-three had it last time, so it's-"
"Don't act like you're the leader, you dumb bitch! You don't even know what half the words you use mean, do you?"
5 patted 2's shoulder gently. "That word, children, it doesn't mean anything, Twoey-"
2 smacked 5's hand away with a snarl, face twisting in a grotesque fashion. "I don't care! He's a dumb bitch and he orders me around! I always have to bake that goddamn cake and fidget like a snot-nosed children, and I hate it!"
"It's getting cold, ladies," snapped 3, resting his hand on the Neku's stilled abdomen and digging his nails in ever-so-slightly. This was, of course, completely unacceptable.
"Hey!"
"Get your disgusting bitchhands off my dinner, you repulsive-!"
"If you so much as touch it, I'll have you too!"
Joshua #6 tried to regain order from his place on the bed. "Will everyone please-"
"Shut up, we're fighting!"
"Fatass!"
"Dumb bitch!"
At that moment, the door opened.
Everyone froze.
Joshua #1 stumbled into the room, looking rather windswept. His cheeks were a healthy pink and his breath came in unsteady, jagged gasps. "Sorry...I'm...huff...late reporting, ran into a rather troublesome situation by AMX – some kind of swordfight, complete idiocy – huff – had to bail, you know. I hope I didn't miss any...thing...?"
His voice trailed off into a corner and died a lonely death in the back of his throat as he took in the scene – four activated Joshuas hunched over a Neku unit, one that was quite obviously dead. At the sight of the surprised expression frozen on the Neku's face, Josh #1 underwent a most peculiar transformation; his eyes opened wide and scared, the color drained from his cheeks, his grip on the door handle grew weak, and his entirety began to tremble. The poor Joshua tried to scrape a sentence together, but his efforts were pitiful. "O-oh...you're...oh...I hope I'm not...interrupt...ing..."
Almost at once, Josh #6 got a very nasty idea. "No, actually. You're just in time, dearie." A wicked, jagged grin sliced his face in two as he beckoned with a sharpened fingernail. "Come here."
Josh #1 hesitated a moment, almost as if he were considering running away; but he shuffled over towards the bed, closing the door behind him. Josh #6 noted that the freshie's face was almost as ashen as his hair.
"You haven't been with us long enough to have had a Neku, have you? Well, here's how we do things in our pack – we have a sort of...tradition." 6 reached out and slid his fingers around 1's wrist, gently pulling him closer. The dazed unit tottered forth, blinking rapidly, almost as if he were trying to keep his eyes from watering. "You see, every time we have a Neku...we let a different Joshua go first and have his fill. When he's finished, the rest of us go in and finish the erasure. In order to make sure that our points are evenly distributed, we take turns going first. Does that make sense?"
1 nodded dumbly.
"We typically go in numerical order, but..." 6 cast a reproachful look at his packmates, who were too busy salivating to pay him any mind. "...since we can't decide who went last, I figured we'd just start over."
The implication of this seemed to hit 1 square in the face.
"Seeing as how you're the newbie, and taking your freshness into account..." 6 smiled wickedly, eyes glittering.. "Well, it's your lucky day. After this, you will be a full-fledged member of our pack. Think of it as a show of...trust."
To split points with another pack was to sever any old pact and replace it with a new one. That was how Joshua units worked – they synced up with whoever they split a point with, on a most-recent basis. This, the simple act of splitting a point with the rest of 6's pack, would end Joshua #1's spying operation for good. It was such a simple solution; elegant in its brilliance, in 6's opinion.
The authoritative Joshua unit glared pointedly at his pack members, and they all backed away from the Neku's body, albeit reluctantly. Even 2 retreated into the shadows, looking mutinous.
"Go on," said Joshua #6. "He's all yours."
Joshua #1 looked at the Neku's body, then back at 6, then back to the Neku again. He took a deep breath, and – he seemed to come to a decision, drawing a deep breath as he kneeled next to the fragile-looking body.
In the dark room, in the dark moment, the Neku looked almost porcelain. 1 clenched and unclenched his hands, staring.
"Go on," 6 repeated, an edge of irritation creeping into his voice.
1 swallowed hard, gaze unwavering. In the mind of Joshua #1, there was a voice. A face. A memory. A million memories, snapshots and snatches of another time, another world...a friend...a Game...and silly, trite pasttimes...
The Neku stared back with vacant blue eyes, colored-glass irises, soft factory-grown skin.
They weren't the same. They weren't. But they looked the same, breathed the same, with the same face, the same DNA. But they weren't the same. This Neku was a conglomeration, a cyborg, a mannikin, a cattle. It was an object. A cattle. It was the livestock of this world, nothing more.
But at the same time, he wasn't. And the memories...Joshua #1 closed his eyes, chewed the inside of his mouth.
"We're waiting," drawled 2 in his horribly identical voice.
The Neku laid prone.
A heavy silence swallowed the air.
"...Oh! I see the problem!" Joshua #6 spoke loudly, with false cheeriness. "Your nails are too short! You'll never be able to win a point with little nubs like those."
Joshua #1 jolted. "...Hm? Oh, y-yes..." His nails were short, but guys weren't supposed to grow them long.
"Here you go," 6 said, reaching into his pants pocket. He produced a jackknife, the kind you might use to open boxes after moving into a new house. "For making life easier."
"Th-thanks," 1 mumbled, accepting the knife with a sour feeling blooming in his guts. For the first time, he realized – really realized – that there was no way out of this situation.
He took a deep breath, looking at the smooth, white skin. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, almost inaudible. He clutched the knife in a trembling hand, squeezed his eyes shut, and cut-
He cut-
He cut-
The skin stretched for an instant, but the sharp knifeblade punctured through without too much trouble. Before he could think, Joshua #1 grabbed the hilt in both hands and gave a fearsome yank to the right. The soft, wet sound was hideous, and his hands were suddenly drenched in a warm, warm, rust-scented wetness...
Despite every fiber of his being shouting NO at the top of its lungs, Joshua #1 released the knife and slid his hands in through the opening to the ventral cavity. It felt soft and moist inside, full of velvety things and squishy things that made shluck noises every time he moved, and Joshua #1 tried his hardest to not picture the organs as he felt them.
The smell blooming from the incision was awful; the smell of raw meat, all moist and damp and rusty in his nostrils. He just grabbed the first thing that didn't feel too gruesome and pulled it out – there was a lot of it, and Joshua #1 had to give it a vaguely annoyed yank. The thing came out with an ugly-sounding series of slippery noises, and all of a sudden Joshua #1 was holding something soft and bloody and terrible in his hand.
Despite every neuron in his brain screaming NO at maximum volume, Josh #1 cracked his eye open. He immediately wished he hadn't, because the thing he'd grabbed just happened to be a rather pale section of what was - unmistakably - an intestine. Smooth and slippery, it was covered in slimy fluid, with a latticework of blood vessels tracing over its glistening surface. It was still warm.
It looked like the bloated, white corpse of some giant worm, like something that had decayed in water - all soft and dead and swollen in places. The thing gave off a powerful smell, of wet meat and wrongness – all warm and pale and wet...
...and now, Joshua had to put it in his mouth. Merry fuckin' Christmas, he thought dully.
Now, the small intestine, if you'll recall, is a tube that is all folded up inside your abdomen. If you were to untangle it, it would be much, much longer than you are tall. It's lined with scores and scores of tiny, fleshy polyps, called filli, which exist to suck the vitamins out of your vomit so it can become crap. The small intestine is full of fluid and bile and partially-digested food, and it is connected to the large intestine. The large intestine is a crap factory. Now, feces, aside from the obvious ickiness, is raw waste. It has nothing in it but toxins, bacteria, etc. - everything your body does not want, it packs into one smelly package which is then disposed of. You are NOT supposed to eat it. Perhaps an even worse menu choice is the actual organ itself – its wet, membranous walls have touched every. Single. Piece. Of crap. That has ever been crapped. By an individual. And then there's the whole question of the things that live in the intestines – E. coli bacteria by the millions, for one thing – and the possibility of tapeworms, those white parasites that can make a man abstain from fettuccine indefinitely...
Joshua #1's head was full of a more-or-less identical paragraph, and then some. The general collateral was a powerful nausea. And the fact that the other Joshes were watching him, like a swarm of starving piranhas watching a goldfish getting fed...
The thing in his hand was so very, very warm.
Joshua #1 tried to discreetly stuff the innocent-looking tube back in the corpse, but his hands were so slippery – he dropped it – why were they so damn slippery?
They were covered in blood. Scarlet blood, warm blood, slippery blood - blood that coated his hands, trickled down his arms in dark, ugly lines. There were black, clotted strings sliding slowly down his arm; gobbets of flesh stuck under his stubby fingernails; that soft, warm, wormlike thing clutched in his trembling palm; and the - and - and -
Joshua #1 lost it.
It was a good thing he hadn't eaten for the past day or so, otherwise the intestines would have come complemented with some very acidic sauce. Dry-heaving is painful as all hell, though, and the Joshes all recoiled in surprise at 1's strange behavior.
"AGH!"
"What do you think you're doing?"
"You didn't even eat it yet! Why are you choking?"
"Hurry up! It's getting cold!"
"GO AHEAD AND EAT IT!"
Joshua #1 could hear the murderous cries surrounding him like a wailing wind. Even though his life depended on this moment, on this action, he simply could not bring himself to offer up so much as a measly lick. Shooting is one thing. Cannibalism is another. He bent over, gagging, eyes watering. Neku...Neku...
WHAT WAS HE DOING?
It was NEKU! Not just some cattle – it was NEKU, NEKU SAKURABA, THEY'D PLAYED HOPSCOTCH TOGETHER TWO WEEKS AGO-
"I can't!" 1 choked out, clenching his fists. "I-I won't! I won't do it!" The Joshua clone – no, not a clone – buried his face in his bloody hands and started to cry.
The Joshes regarded this dramatic display with faint amusement. Or they would have, if they hadn't been the starving sharks that are activated Joshua units. As it was, they began to growl and jab at the alternate Joshua with their sharp fingernails, trying to get him to get a move on or get eaten.
The jabs were rough and painful, like being stabbed with an exacto-knife over and over again. The alternate Joshua didn't even feel it, so far drowned was he in despair; he curled up into a tight, hysterical ball, sobbing and sobbing and shaking with the force of it. It was amazing – once the floodgates were opened, the tears wouldn't stop coming. "I-I won't do it...I won't...I'm so sorry...oh, Neku...Neku..."
Joshua #2 snapped his sharp teeth dangerously close to the blubbering Joshua's ear, only to receive a crack on the head from #6. He hissed and scuttled away, like some sort of demonic crab.
"Stop this at once!" #6 barked, leaping off the bed, grabbing the out-of-dimensioner by the back of his shirt and hauling him to his feet. He turned the boy around to face him, dug his nails into the boy's thin, heaving shoulders. It did no good.
"N-Neku...Neku...I'm sorry...s-sorry...so (hic) sorry...Neku...ohhhhh..."
"You stop! Stop right now!" #6 shook the emotional mess back and forth, to little effect other than a few ululating wails.
"Th-this is...it's...all my (hic)...fault...oh...ohhhh...I wanna go home...I wanna go home...I wanna go home...I-I...wanna-"
SMACK!
#6 slapped the poor boy across the face, knocking the frightful wails from his lips. The alternate Joshua looked up at him – his face was a wreck, leaking from every available orifice; his eyes glistened and sparkled with tears, his lip trembled – and he whimpered, whimpered.
"Shut up," spat Joshua #6. "You're an insolent bitch if you won't eat, and if you can't eat, you're defective. You're keeping us from our dinner by being a spoiled brat. Carry on like this, you stupid, stupid thing, and we will erase you. We will rip you apart. We will lick the steaming fat from your weeping bones. So stop being such a selfish pig and EAT SOMETHING."
"...won't...can't..." The Joshua stared straight ahead, unseeing. A fresh wave of tears spilled over his disgusting eyelids, streaking pink paths though his blood-smeared cheeks. Mucus dribbled out of his nostrils, pooled on his upper lip.
"So we erase you. Shut up," Joshua #6 snarled indignantly when, overcome by a sudden surge of grief, the boy grabbed him in a hug and started crying into his shoulder. "Ugh, you filthy, filthy—get off of me, you disgusting—get your horrible eye-juices off of my—agh! Help me!"
The other Joshes were at a loss. But the Neku was unnattended, so they left their leader to struggle with the weeping example of utter despair. Joshuas aren't the most loyal things in the world, you know.
They ripped and tore; blood splattered everywhere; flesh was stripped from bone, and then the bones were cracked open and devoured as well; organs were clawed open and the goo sucked out. The only thing saved from utter destruction happened to be the rent - or rather, the Neku's cheeks, which #5 peeled off and tossed aside with complete disregard for finesse.
6 couldn't bear it. This was torturous – he was so hungry... He turned to face the wailing Joshua with fresh loathing. "Release me at once, or I'll rip your arms off!"
"I...I-I...I..."
6 snarled and bit the Joshua on the shoulder. The boy cried out with pain and his vicegrip lessened – so Joshua #6 did the only logical thing and shoved him off. He regained his balance, watching the boy scramble across the floor, a sobbing wreck.
Lip curling in disgust, 6 kicked the heap of despair in the side. The Other Joshua whimpered, tried to hide behind his trembling, bloody hands.
"You're defective. And here I thought you were a spy, a traitor. Ha...! My opinions of you were truly too generous, hm?" Joshua #6 advanced on the cowering #1, sneering. "Defective! You're defective. Ha! We should rip off your skin. We should snap your arms off and shred them into Special Shio Ramen, we should carve out your fat and bake it into cheesecake...just like we did to the last one."
"Don't kill me! D-don't kill me, please...please..." The Other Joshua crawled away, crying like a wounded animal.
From afar there came soft, wet noises, punctuated sharply by the crackling of glass irises, ground to powder between teeth.
"To think," Joshua 6 drawled, inspecting the back of his hand lazily. The light filtering through the curtains snagged on the razor-sharp fingernails, and they glowed a luminous, sickly yellow. "To think I let a defective unit into my pack! Tsk, tsk. We should have ripped you apart when we had the chance."
Josh 6 looked at the quivering creature a moment longer, regarding the horrible abomination with faint amusement. I'm sorry, Pamela, but our meeting will have to be tomorrow, he thought, slightly regretfully.
He sprung.
Eyes black, talons bared, rows and rows and rows of jagged, blood-encrusted teeth, murderous and lightning fast and so hungry so hungry so hungry -
The Other Joshua screamed in absolute terror, lashing out blindly with his not-so-nice shoe.
Through some magnificent stroke of luck, the kick connected. Sharp teeth stabbed into beat-up leather, stabbed into his toes with a horrible CRACK – another scream, another horrible harpy-scream -
The sound was too harsh for the Joshua unit's sensitive hearing. 6 flinched away, howling; the Other Joshua wailed and clutched his bloody shoe, a fresh wave of revolting tears oozing out of his eyes.
6 clawed at his ears, hissing and spitting. His activated eyes saw the defective Joshua, emitting those terrifying screams – why? This never happened! Why was it hurting...?
The sight of blood dripping out of the Other Joshua's shoe turned 6's vision red with rage. The scent of it, that metallic, salty scent blooming like an explosion of springs and summers in his flared nostrils, butterflies beating in the cage of his computerized brain. He moaned with want, with hunger, with hatred...
The Other Joshua saw, and tried to crawl away – but 6 was on him in an instant. "ThIS eNds HErE!" shouted 6, digging his nails into the tender shoulder-flesh, the all-consuming hunger rising up in him like a black tidal wave -
"N-no, stop! PLEASE! PLEASE, DON'T KILL ME – if you do, Shibuya – Neku – I-I –" The terrified Joshua wriggled like a wriggling piece of plywood, twisting this way and that, thrashing under the ravenous clones weight. He kicked, he struggled, he bit he scratched he hit and he kicked some more – and he did not surrender, for surrender meant being ripped apart and devoured, never going home again, never never never – never mind the pain! Joshua had to get home, he just had to, for both Neku's sake and his...for the sake of all the Players trapped in a ceaseless Game in his absence, for the sake of his UG...
6's jaws snapped, foaming, frenzied. There was something birdlike about his jerky movements, the way his neck stabbed down and back, trying to grab the Other Joshua in his teeth and rip rip rip him to pieces. The clone didn't even look human anymore – those horrible black eyes, those horrible teeth, snapping and snarling and stabbing.
"DON'T KILL ME! I'll do anything! ANYTHING, ANYTHING! PLEASE-"
Suddenly, the attack ceased.
Joshua #6's eyes flickered, constricted. Violet irises bloomed, the shark mouth crinkled back to human width. The nostrils stopped flaring.
"aNytHINg, yOU SaY?" growled the clone, the wet smell of raw flesh faint on his hot breath. Slowly, his voice became less distorted, became more smooth. "...Anything?"
The Other Joshua gulped and nodded weakly.
"Hmm." Joshua #6 appeared to consider this for a moment. "It is by Pamela's will that, as a defective unit, you must be destroyed. But..." The clone smirked evilly. "I suppose you could be some use to me yet. What say you we strike a deal?"
"...O-Okay," the other Josh sniffed, scared out of his mind.
Joshua #6 pushed off of the boy's frail chest and kneeled on the floor, looking downright deplorable. "As you know, the Tithing Ceremony is in two days. A sacrifice to the Great Mother, Pamela, is required."
"...A sacrifice?"
"Yes, very good, dear." The Joshua clone sneered condescendingly. "How about this for a little exchange – if you can bring me two sacrifices by the night of the festival, I will let you go free, no trouble."
The Other Joshua's glistening eyes widened in disbelief. Free...he could escape from this pack, go into hiding, maybe – he could hide in Pork City, living off the vending machines buried in the piles of stuff – lay low for a while, at least until he came up with a new plan for escape...escape! Here was a chance to finally escape from this hell once and for all, and all he had to do was bring in two of those robots...
"But, my darling, if you can't manage to do that, well...I'm sorry to say it, but..." Joshua #6's eyes glinted in a way that said he wasn't sorry at all. "I guess we'll have to sacrifice you to our beautiful Mother instead, won't we?"
The Other Joshua wiped his tears away, hauled himself into a sitting position. Every breath was shuddery and weak, but no longer was he the terrified wreck of a few moments prior. Yes...yes, this was what he had been waiting for. A chance – just a chance - to clear his head, to sit down and think without the eyes of a thousand clones scouring him hatefully. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and nodded. "Th-that sounds fair," he said jerkily, his diaphragm still fluttering in the winds of despair.
"I'm glad we agree," said Joshua #6, grinning even more evilly – if that was even possible. "But there is one condition. You see, I don't want you dragging in just any old unit, dear. Do you understand what I'm getting at?"
The Other Joshua had a feeling he knew, but he said nothing.
"That's right. I have two specific units in mind, my dear. But don't worry, it won't be hard to fetch them. In fact, they live two doors down." He caressed the boy's cheek with his sharp talons. "Room 27. It won't be hard at all."
A shiver laced its way up the Other Joshua's spine – a fearful shiver, a shiver of dark premonition. Foresight prickled in his back, saying no, no, no.
"So, what do you say?" Glass-violet eyes glinted heartlessly. "Do we have a deal?"
A chance to escape this hell, a chance to go home – this was all he wanted. It was all that mattered. He was sick of this place, he just wanted to go home...
The Other Joshua fixed #6 in his gaze - unflinching, unwavering.
"Of course."
A/N: WHO KNEW THAT YOU CAN MAKE DELICIOUS ROOT BEER OUT OF EXTRACT AND DRY ICE?
BECAUSE I SURE DIDN'T!
Seriously, my science teacher made a whole damn keg of the stuff and propped it up by the sink in the rear of the room. So my friend and I hung out in the back all period, taking shots of root beer and stuff when the teacher wasn't looking. High times, dudes. High times.
Aw, man. That stuff was TASTY. I am totally craving it right now. Also, Joshua would be the best babysitter ever - at least, watching him struggle to tend to the needs of a babyfied Neku, Hanekoma and Sho would be freaking hilarious.
"TEECH ME COMPWEX MAFF! WAAAH! I WANNA WEARN ANDVANCED CALCUWUS! I WANNA WEARN ANDVANCED CALCUWUS!"
"No, no! You have to learn basic algebra first, idiot child-"
Totally writing a oneshot about that. You can't stop me.
SO ANYWAY we finally know what the Joshes are actually doing. (Ha, ha, fak u Ben and your naïvete.) I'm gonna assume you're at least a little surprised, and that the foreshadowing (voreshadowing? SORRY, SORRY...) wasn't too obvious. But I warned you at the beginning, didn't I? It's not Josh/Neku at all. The relationship here is more like Morlock/Eloi. The Morlocks make the cute little innocent Eloi feel nice and comfortable, giving them clothes and food and stuff - they wait until they're juuust fat enough, and then they drag them down into the sewer and eat them alive. How romantic~
((If anyone's a little confused about how you go about eating robot flesh, well – the clones are like cyborgs, kind of. Like, human bodies grown from a specific DNA code, with special computers inserted where brains should be – and a few enhancements here and there, such as the whole activation thing, and with N99: his bones were strengthened with titanium alloy.))
Well drat I just realized it ends with a two-word phrase just like the last chapter oh my GOD what will people think of my writing ability now fret fret fret
WELL! I expect EVERYBODY to review! EVEN THE PEOPLE WHO AREN'T READING THIS - because reviews make my heart feel super-happy!
