November 29th, 2030, 4:12 PM
Los Angeles, California

The cowboy had his hands stuffed in his pockets, lip curled with a distasteful sneer: Annoyance. With a hint of something else.

Humans were loud. Obnoxious. Acted long before thinking. Even worse than the Egos' creators, that was for sure.

Ed's thumb stroked the cash in his pocket, cocky triumph easing its way into his shielded eyes, making the sneer on his lips look so much harsher, colder. It was so easy to swindle that manager it was almost embarrassing. Just a peek over his sunglasses so their eyes met, some confident words, and his ability did the rest to make the man oh so easy to persuade. The man shook out of his daze some time later with a low-quality jacket he had absolutely no use for and his wallet short a hundred bucks. That hundred would now service the cowboy for a while until he decided to trick another hapless soul into buying something completely useless off of him.

"You've still got it, Edgar," he chuckled.

It had been years since he'd made a deal with anyone. He'd almost forgotten how easy it was. How satisfying it could be—even if the high lasted for only a short time.

It wasn't long before his expression went unreadable. The weeks had been long. Ed had struggled to find places to stay the first night or two.

He'd also gotten a nice sock to the face when attempting to swindle a barkeep the other day. One hand drew from its hiding place to rub at the sore, dark bruise on his chin that had been the result. It was a reminder that his ability to persuade didn't always work as he wanted it to; at least not on those with intelligence that could rival with Ed's own. And that woman behind the bar had one nasty right hook… He could have sworn he'd seen stars.

The old Ego had high-tailed it out of there after recovering from the blow. Stupid humans…

After that, he was a little more careful of who he targeted. Like that manager whose IQ could have competed with Silver's. Goddamn idiot…

Adjusting his hat and smoothing out his mustache, Ed stopped at a crosswalk. He leaned against the light, waiting for the one across the street to tell him to walk, boot tapping with impatience. He'd just missed it and would be forced to wait it out.

His thoughts drifted. To the business he'd abandoned many years ago. To their creators. To the other Egos. He couldn't care less if one of them wound up dead by their own stupidity, but that didn't mean the redneck couldn't be curious. He was glad he'd left on his own, glad he'd kept his phone off. Made it a little harder to tell time, but certainly worth it if Silver, that fucking fusspot, couldn't get a hold of the cowboy.

Ed thought of the city, just how big it was. Tried to think of the chances he'd run into the others.

There were so many possibilities. So many places he could go to change those chances to be greater or lesser in happening. It had him taking each step curiously, deep brown eyes darting about for a familiar gait or speech pattern or attire.

At one point just the other day he could have sworn he'd heard someone cussing in German. He still wasn't positive whether or not it had been Schneeplestein, unfortunately. The man had chucked something in a trash bin, still swearing, and stormed off before the cowboy could get across the street to get a better look.

Just a few hours ago today, his phone had also turned on and started flipping out for a short while as a pair of men clutching grocery bags shuffled past him. Neither party had realized they'd passed another Ego. Ed still hadn't connected the dots that one of them had been the glitch and the other the mute, while the pair hadn't even so much as glanced his way—leaving all three completely oblivious.

Whether he realized it or not, the chances of running into other Egos in Los Angeles were greater than he thought, as he'd already seen three during his time Outside. It was almost as if they were drawn to each other, and the concentration of them in the city really didn't help.

As it would turn out, another was very nearby, but neither realized.

When the 'walk' sign lit up, the cowboy pushed himself away from the pole and wandered across the street. His stomach growled, bringing with it a pang of irritation. With a sigh and shake of the head, however, Ed relented and went into the next place to serve food he passed.

It turned out to be an Internet cafe. Somewhat busy, he noted with lip curling in distaste.

"Ed?"

The old Ego jumped and spun toward the voice. He took in the sight of a scraggly young man, bags under his eyes with long and crooked fingers that hadn't moved from their keyboard. His unkempt hair was black and tipped with…faded green? Blonde? It was so greasy that it clumped and made it hard to tell. If it was an Ego, he didn't have any defining characteristics Ed could pick out. Unless Host's single streak of blonde had changed location and he'd magically gotten his eyes back, Ed couldn't be positive who this one was.

"Who?" he demanded. Ed's hands curled into fists against his knowledge.

The man recoiled a little, ducking his head. "J-Jacques," he answered with a small voice.

A cop—no, no, a security guard—chatting with the barista turned to eye the cowboy, gaze finding tightly fisted hands. Ed relaxed them, feigning a sheepish look with head ducked to make the big man relax, and approached Jacques's side.

"Sorry, kiddo." It was too easy to fake a smile. "Fancy seein' you here."

"I…could say the same." The Septic removed his hands from the keyboard, and Ed raised a brow as his fingers crackled as he curled them. It was as if Jacques had been typing for hours without allowing his hands rest.

"The docs'll scold ya for that."

"Who cares?" The cowboy was taken aback by the artist's tone. Jacques seemed to notice and turned his gaze away. "Pardon…"

"Pardon what?"

Jacques rolled his eyes now with a little huff. "It means 'sorry.' It seems obvious, no? And has similar meaning either for both French and English! Stupide."

"Shut up, kid!"

When he'd realized both of them had raised their voices, Ed winced and glanced about the cafe. His eyes met the barista's, and a chill traveled down his spine before he could tear his gaze away. The man behind the counter was on edge, one hand grasping the security guard's sleeve.

The big man's voice growled out, "Is there a problem?" He pried the barista's hand from his sleeve and approached.

Jacques flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. The man reminded him of some of the bad-tempered Ipliers, and he fully expected someone to receive a sharp blow of the fist, stab, or gunshot. It didn't help that he towered over them both. Ed, on the other hand, just held his hands up and slipped off his sunglasses so he could meet the man eye-to-eye. "No, sir," he said in a well-trained manner. "S'been a while since I've seen my friend here—he startled me a bit is all an' we got excited. Ain't meanin' no harm."

Now or never, he thought. Ed blinked, and fixed the man with a different sort of look: Eyes seeming a somewhat more vivid brown, almost gold, with eyebrows lowered. His Persuasion was in full affect. He could only hope the man wasn't overly bright.

"Y'see, I don't take well to bein' startled; my friend didn't mean to, though. And your scarin' 'im worse than I ever could. He ain't big on big fellas like yourself actin' all threatenin'." Any attempts from Jacques or the guard to speak were silenced by Ed's primary ability: As long as he was speaking, those within earshot couldn't make a sound. When paired with his Persuasion, it could have a powerful effect. Back home, his business had done extremely well because of them.

He continued, "Like I said Mr., ah…" he eyed the man's name badge, "Garring, I ain't meanin' no harm. Just a little excitable's all."

Ed couldn't help but grin when the security guard appeared to enter a daze, staring the cowboy dead in the eye. "Jacques," he glanced to the artist, "what'd'ya say we high-tail it on outta here?"

"Um… Sure?"

Pulling the artist up to his feet, the pair walked to the door. Ed turned and tipped his hat to the guard, releasing him from his daze, and left the building while the man was still recovering.

Once they were safely outside, the Iplier reached out to grab Jacques by the arm and make the artist turn around.

"We were not doing anything wrong!" Jacques complained with a scowl. Ed felt a prick of annoyance. His time Outside had made the Septic a little more confident, it seemed; less docile than he'd been for years. "You did not have to Persuade him."

"Better safe than sorry, kiddo." The cowboy put his thumbs in his pockets and shifted to one foot, leaning comfortably against the brick side of the building. "That barista gave me the creeps…"

"I thought he was nice." Jacques shifted his notebook from one hand under the opposite arm. He'd managed to snatch it and his wallet up before being dragged out of the cafe, fortunately.

Ed glanced back toward the swinging door with a shake of his head. "Dunno, kid. Somethin' 'bout his eyes."

"He is human, Ed. You are just not used to them looking at you funny. Because that was a very funny look he gave you!"

"I thought ya'll hated humans?"

The artist shook his head, eyes wide as if in surprise. "Oh, no, no! I am…bitter, with the fans, yes, but humans make better company than Silver and Roxanne by far! And I have yet to meet a former fan, Ed. Have you seen any with Markiplier shirts wandering about? I am sure not!" A little shrug, and Jacques wouldn't meet the Iplier's eyes. "They no longer have active followers. We will never have fans again, no?"

Ed huffed a laugh. The kid was right.

When he fixed his near-gold gaze on Jacques, he was met by narrowed eyes and a set jaw. "Do not attempt that shit on me, Ed. I am smarter than you, no? It will not work."

Another pang of annoyance. Ed covered it with a laugh and toothy grin. Jacques was not as impressed.

"Now that you have ruined my evening, what do you want?" the artist demanded.

The cowboy put up his hands. "I didn't intend to run into ya, kid. I ain't wanting nothin' from ya." He flashed a smile of pearly whites.

"Drop the act, Edgar," Jacques growled. Now that startled the cowboy. Jacques certainly had changed, and Ed didn't like it. He wasn't the weak little lesser Ego who ducked his head and did as he was told. "You are a fucking sociopath. You cannot be happy. You cannot be concerned, or caring, or attached. You are fake. A fraud. Any—"

Jacques whimpered as a strong hand grabbed his jaw, successfully silencing him. "Watch your tone with me, boy." The Septic flinched at Ed's own, whispered, tone, eyes shut and form appearing to shrink in on itself. "I've only ever been kind to ya since we met. Ya'll best remember that." The artist felt hot breath on his face, and tried to turn away despite the stronger Ego holding his head place. Ed's body and a sign on the other side of Jacque blocked the smaller Ego from passing crowds; simply making them appear like a couple who really needed to get a room and hiding the truth from prying eyes.

"Now," the Iplier drawled, teeth bared in a cruel grin. This one was clearly fake. "Ya'll are right. I do fake it. An' real damn well, eh?" His fingers tightened painfully until the Septic whimpered and gave a tiny nod. "So ya'll best be grateful I act kind to ya. 'Cause if ya dropped dead at my feet right now, I wouldn't give a fuck, kiddo." Ed's hand twitched slightly to the side to emphasize his words. Tears slipped from the artist's eyes at the unspoken threat of a snapped neck. "Ya'll understand?"

"L-loud and clear."

Ed had never threatened the artist. Then again…he'd never had reason, had he? Jacques used to just shrug or lower his head and do as ordered by the other Egos. He'd gotten mouthy since coming Outside; Silver and Roxanne succeeding in really getting on his nerves and making him too confident with his words.

"Good." He released the other, so Jacques took in a shaky breath, eyes cracking open. "Now, I've always been nice to ya when the others forgot ya'll existed, eh?" Jacques nodded slowly. The words stung, but were true. He'd always been distant from the other Egos, had grown to dislike his creator and the fans. Even if he knew Ed's emotions were false, at least he'd been there pretending to care. "Remember that, kiddo. 'Cause if ya mouth off to me again, ya'll ain't gonna see that ever again." The Septic flinched, but gave another nod. It was all he could do with Ed's stream of words keeping him quiet.

The cowboy grinned and patted him on the cheek. Jacques wanted to reel from the contact, but wisely chose not to. "How 'bout ya return to your sad little hero, eh, kid? An' I suggest keepin' quiet 'bout our little talk."

Ed stepped back. Jacques hadn't realized until then that he'd been cornered between the cowboy and a sign. The artist only nodded again, scrubbing the tears from his face with the heels on his palms. He turned to scurry back to the motel, but felt his stomach drop when the Iplier grabbed his wrist.

"I'll text ya soon, kiddo." That hand tightened painfully. Jacques was sure his wrist would bruise. "I expect an answer."

With that, the artist was released. He took off, sprinting down the sidewalk and skidding around the corner to get Ed's cold stare off the back of his skull.

AN: Jacques is my baby, so that hurt to write ;;