Interlude 5.x (Chuck)

Charlie Rycroft sighed as he got up, stretching. The injuries he'd picked up during his first night in Brockton Bay still hurt, even three days later, though popping a pill helped, and he had enough for the next month, easily. He busied himself around the apartment he'd rented deep in in E88 territory as Benjamin Franklin the 8th. Having to shill out almost a grand to avoid a background check had been painful, but he had a lot more, though he wasn't going to be repeating the experience he'd gone through to get it if he could afford to. He laughed to himself at the pun.

A quick shit, shower, but still no shave, dammnit, and he was ready to face the day. He was tempted to spend another day hiding out, but if he stayed inside for another day with no one to talk to he was going to go nuts, well, more nuts. He still had no idea how the hell he got here, and why the hell this world was so messed up. Sure, superpowered villains, but come on, no one thought to snipe? That was like, combat one-oh-one! Camping was the move of a total newb, but this game was rigged, so why the fuck not? Opening the drawer he'd stuck a small armory in, covered by a few t-shirts he'd picked up, he considered taking along a weapon. Go out without a weapon, or run the risk of getting harassed by the cops. Chuck snorted, grabbing an SMG, slinging its harness to be covered by his jacket. I'm in Nazi territory, the cops aren't gonna do shit.

Half an hour later, surrounded by skinheads, he couldn't help to remark to himself, Well, I wasn't wrong. "Who the fuck do ya think you are kid, carrying a piece in our city!" the lead baldy asked, shoving Chuck back, only for another to shove him forward back into the center. He was surprised that he wasn't as scared as he should be. A part of that was the fact that he was six-foot-five, and the thug, might be six feet, so he had to look up to threaten him, but it was more the lack of firepower. The thugs somehow knew he was carrying, but they seemed to think it was pistol. A couple of the thugs had pistols, but other than that it was knives and sticks, making Chuck the heaviest armed person here, and ever since he'd gotten here, all the lessons on martial arts and marksmanship his brother had tried to teach him had just clicked. Pfft, I can take 'em, some part of his mind observed, as the rest of his mind screamed ARE YOU HIGH! to that suicidally overconfident voice.

"I don't want any trouble," he said instead, raising his hands to chest level, ready to grab his gun if he needed, but he really didn't want to. This was the last safe, well, safe-ish part of the city, and he had a feeling that if he wanted answers, he had to stay here. Gunning down a bunch of the local gangsta's would probably be the opposite of helpful.

"Then give us your piece, and your money, and we might let you go. Be glad you aren't a nigger." The thug peered at him. "You're not a Jew, are you?"

Like I'd say yes if I was! Chuck thought, mind spinning to try to find a way to de-escalate the situation. Maybe if they think I'm part of their tribe or something. His face screwed up in disgust. "Do I look like a fuckin' kike?" He just felt dirty saying that, but if it let him walk away, fuck it.

"Fine, give us your gun and your wallet and you can go," the leader informed him, as if chuck was just going to do that.

Like I can believe that. Shit, I need to go on the offensive. "Fuck you Dumbass, I thought this was E88 territory, and you're shaking me down like I'm some fuckin Jap? That a tan, or are you just a particularly creamy ape?" Repressing his gag at his language, Chuck glared at the leader. As the other Nazi's started looking at their leader thoughtfully, he had to congratulate himself, deciding to study that database of racial slurs was paying off, even if half of them made no sense. Like, Darky, yeah, they had dark skin. Unoriginal as fuck, but what did you expect from racists? Their powers of observation were literally skin-deep. Coon though, that made no sense. Racoons were just as white as they were black, if not more, though they were mostly grey. Did they think black people were really inventive, had a lot of dexterity, or maybe stole stuff from trash cans?

As the leader started to sputter incoherently, one of the other Neo-Nazis was staring at Chuck in a way that worried him. Grabbing his phone, the thug held it up, looking between it and Chuck, before his eyes went wide. "Holy shit it's him!" he yelled, showing the guys on either side of him, who looked at the phone before looking back at Chuck, happy about it.

"Fuck, it is! That's BadBoySlayer888!" one of them yelled, the phone getting passed around. Chuck repressed a wince. He did not want to get connected to that clusterfuck. The leader looked at the phone, before he looked at Chuck, impressed and a little scared.

"Fuck, I'm sorry man, I didn't know. Why didn't you say you were one of us," the asshole actually goddamned apologized.

"I'm not!" Chuck said before he could help it. They looked confused, and some looked hurt, and what did hurt racists do? Nothing good, that's for sure. He clarified, "I haven't joined E88, but I don't need to, to kill some fuckin'," he paused, trying to think of a good one, "Ching Chong Chinks!"

As the crowd roared in approval he had to keep himself, from just grabbing the gun and opening fire on these pieces of human filth. What kind of person thinks what I just said is good! Though he had his answer, fucking Nazis, and the almost worshipful ways a couple looked at him made him want to vomit. The worst part was the fact that the adulation was still adulation, and made him feel good, which just made him feel worse.

"Ya mean you did that without anyone backin ya?" one of them asked, impressed. Chuck's uncaring shrug just made them like him more. Yay?


The next afternoon Chuck was back in his room, trying to lay low. On the bright side, he now knew he was safe here. On the other side, he couldn't walk more than three blocks without some asshole happily saying hello to him, which just made him feel worse every time it happened. For the third time that hour someone knocked on his door. Somehow they'd found where he'd lived, and kept dropping by to congratulate him for killing people for what they thought was the color of their skin.

He didn't grab a shotgun, mostly because he was worried he'd shoot the Darwin Award contestant who came to express their amazement at his disgusting act of racism. He growled as he opened the door; "Wha. . ." He trailed off, staring at the three distinctive Nazis in front of him. To the left was a guy dressed in only baggy pants with vanity chains like some emo teen and a tiger mask. To the right was a really fit blonde chick covered in scars with a metal cage over her head, mostly obscuring her face. Front and center though, was a greasy looking guy, also shirtless, wearing jeans, boots, and a metal wolf mask. From his research, especially focused now that he seemed to be skinhead catnip, Chuck recognized the E88's heavy hitters, Stormtiger, Cricket, and Hookwolf. "Hi?" he squeaked.

Hookwolf stared up at him, and Chuck realized that being taller than the crazed killer might not be a good thing. "Heard a bitch here said he was the one that made that video. You him?"

Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit. "Yes?" Chuck hazarded, voice breaking a little.

Stormtiger snorted. "Doesn't sound like it."

"You show me proof, or I show you your heart," Hookwolf informed the teen, there was a growl to it, but almost a bored one.

"Um, sure, gimme a sec?" Chuck asked stepping back, Hookwolf following before he had a chance to close the door. Not like that would help versus someone who could turn into a wolf made of hooks! Mind you, as far as names went, it was one of the stupidest goddamn things he'd ever fucking heard. Stahlhund, Kettensage, hell Direwolf would have been better, since his form was as big as one, and if you fought him you were in dire circumstances. He wasn't going to tell the crazed killer that to his face though, but still, where's the creativity? At least Stormtiger was a kind of tank AND he could kinda make storms. Sorta. He finished his critique as he found the blood-stained jacket and panda mask, hidden in the back of his closet. Bringing it out Hookwolf grabbed it, sniffing it before tossing it to Stormtiger, who did the same, nodding. Do they have super smelling or something?

"What's your power?" Hookwolf demanded.

Chuck froze, thinking if he should lie, but then he'd have to show off, so it wasn't worth it. He shrugged instead, trying to make his voice sound tough. "D-Don't have any." That got their attention, the two men glancing to Cricket, who nodded.

All three looked at him, impressed. Well, probably. Their faces were covered. He hoped they were impressed. Chuck felt like he should say something. "Didn't need powers, just shot 'em and they died like," he paused, about to say dogs, but that guy called himself a wolf so that might not work, "the yellow bastards they were."

"We could use people like you for the cause. Join, and we could get you healed and killing Coolies by tonight," Hookwolf offered.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck! He panicked. They're dragging me into this, and this feels like an offer I can't refuse. Fuck. Think! Why did I choose a third-floor apartment? Can't jump out a window. Not that it would help, dude turns into a wolf made out of hooks! He tried to figure out how to get out of this situation. Dudes look like they're the 'noble white warrior' types, let's go with that. Settling into that mindset, the response was obvious. "I'm honored, but I gotta ask, the healing, does it leave scars?" He knew it didn't.

The chick took out a fucking kama from her back, but instead of attacking him flipped it over, pressing the base to her throat, buzzing "No, it doesn't".

Jackpot. "Then I'll have to turn you down. I took these wounds in battle, and I want to feel them heal, and remember what I did wrong so I won't make the same mistakes next time." He doubled down, noticing the scars all three were almost proudly sporting. "And without scars, how will people know I am a warrior."

They exchanged looks, and he hoped to god he hadn't overplayed the part. "Take off your shirt." Hookwolf demanded.

Well, if they're gonna kill me, doesn't matter if I'm shirtless. He complied, Hookwolf almost negligently reaching down and ripping off the bandages as Chuck fought not to make a sound at the pain. The killer looked at his wounds before nodding.

"Not bad. You'll be fine to fight in two weeks. You'll join then," Hookwolf announced, sounding like he was smiling. With that he turned and stalked out the door, Stormtiger following him, trying to look bored just a little too hard.

Cricket lingered, giving him a once over. "You're out of shape," she buzzed, "But I'll get you fighting fit soon enough. Then we'll have fun."

She left as well, which was good as Charlie wasn't sure if he should be offended because she called him fat, or, well, that almost sounded like flirting, and he had no idea how to take that.


Chuck walked down the darkened street, frustrated, the panic that had been growing for the past few days at the back of his head making itself noted. He'd had two weeks to get the hell out of dodge, but as soon as he'd left the next morning, he'd noticed he'd picked up a tail. They were making sure he was around to join, or they'd probably kill him. To get away he needed to Randy Newman this bitch. Unfortunately, finding friends who weren't Neo-Nazis was proving to be fucking impossible. This night he'd managed to shake his tail, heading downtown, going to a club to try to meet someone who could help. The first red flag should've been when the bouncer had stopped him from getting in line to get in, but instead of telling him to scram told him instead to go right inside.

"What the hell, you're letting a fifteen-year-old into the club?" one of the women in line had complained.

Fuck you too! was his immediate response, but before he could say anything the bouncer shot back, "When you've killed half the people he has, you can bitch, bitch." Fuck, that dude's cool! Chuck thought, heading inside.

Turns out, he found, the club was not somewhere to make friends. Between the bad lighting, the loud music, and the drunk people, friendly conversation wasn't gonna happen. Most people wouldn't give him the time of day. Those that would. . . well, while the offer to get blown in the bathroom was tempting, and he was still seventeen, not fifteen, but she only wanted to do it because of the entire killing Asians thing. He knew, because she nearly panted it, which killed the mood pretty fucking quickly.

After two hours, and increasingly disturbing offers, he'd left and headed back to his apartment. It was the early hours of the morning, not even twilight, and the streets were pretty empty. He started to head to the crosswalk, but he noticed the power-box on the sidewalk was blinking. It stood out to him, because he'd never seen them have any light on them whatsoever. When it started beeping he started backing up. The ground rumbled and he thought Fuck this, turning and running. A moment later he heard a deep grinding and ran faster, the ground shaking, the stone of the sidewalk starting to come apart.

Leaping over part of the sidewalk that had split open, cracks appearing, he ran like hell as his footing started to loosen and disappear, the cars on the street sliding back the way he came, before a small thunderclap went off behind him, the force of whatever it was picking him up and tossing him down the street.

Landing and rolling, burning off momentum in that weird way his body sometimes moved in this place, he sprang to his feet and looked back. Where used to be an intersection was a deep hole, Rubble, steel, and even some cars were tossed in every direction, destroying the buildings closest to the blast and riddling everything around the site with debris. He heard a tinny ringing, but nothing else at first, his hearing slowly coming back as he started to hear the screams of people in the buildings, and from elsewhere in the city as he heard explosions, whooshes of flame, cracking noises, and a whole lot of other things.

Deciding he wanted no part of this he took another street to go home. As he ran he passed people coming out of their homes, looking around, and generally getting in his way. He ran out of breath after a couple blocks, stopping to pant as his chest hurt. As he bent over, he noticed a light under the parked car he was leaning against. It shown for a second, a brown light, and then started blinking.

Blinking lights are never good, was his thought as he pushed himself to run again, pushing harder as it started fucking beeping. He yelled "Run!" as he fled, his legs felt leaden, but he pressed on, pushing past confused people and cursing his hatred of PE. After a second the beeping stopped and there was a great squelching sound. Turning to look as he leaned against a light post he saw the cars, walls, even the people that had stopped to stare behind him had lost all color three inches above the ground, the affected area having turned a dark brown, and looking to be made of the same material. The phenomena had spread out from the light in a hemisphere, the asshole he'd had to push past a few feet back's legs were affected, the man's face scrunched up in confusion. The entire street seemed to freeze before it all collapsed, everything losing cohesion as the smell of mud hit his nose. The building nearest the, fuck, was that even a bomb, collapsed, stone and masonry collapsing into the street, splashing mud in every direction as the man started screaming, his bottom half liquid. As Chuck fell backwards something bounced by him. Reaching over to see what it was, the man's screams of pain petering off to nothing, he brushed off the mud to find he was holding a woman's foot, cut cleanly above the ankle and bleeding into the mud.

Dropping it Chuck vomited, unable to handle what the fuck he was seeing. After a minute where he didn't break down, just wanting to go back home, to a place where there weren't bombs that turned people to fucking wet dirt, he picked himself up, took a deep breath, and turned on his heel to go back to his fucking apartment. He spared a glance for the man, but he was dead, whether of shock or blood loss, he wasn't sure, but it didn't really matter now.

Deciding that apparently the streets were a fucking deathtrap. He started taking alleys, another building collapsing into the mud behind him. That seemed to work, and he was two blocks away before he tripped on something that he couldn't see, a beeping coming from right beside him. "Fuck me!" Chuck swore as he bolted, pushing everything he had to get away as he heard a soft foomp and gravity turned sideways. Lunging to the side he clung onto a dumpster, he looked down at a black sphere hanging twenty feet in the air in the middle of the alley, pulling everything to it. The loose trash was drawn in, a trashcan bouncing off his head, making him see stars as he held on. After a second, the pull increased, and the dumpster started to slide backwards, towards the fucking singularity. Climbing to it's top, side, whatever, Chuck jumped to hold onto a pipe, the dumpster picking up speed before it lifted off, crushing with a horrible sound as it fit itself into the basketball sized sphere.

The metal beneath his hands started to bend, bolts popping loose as Chuck climbed to the right, up, away. Part of the pipe gave way, tearing and falling into the sphere, the mooring coming loose faster than he could climb as he heard breaking masonry and screaming. The pipe finally gave, and he flew back, flailing arms catching hard on a fire escape, which shuddered and started to groan and deform. His arms were on fire and his entire body felt heavy, his legs like someone was squeezing them all over. The fire-escape tore itself out of what was left of the wall while he tried to climb it, not even getting more than a few feet away. As he was pulling back towards the hole in space, feeling his body squeezed, knowing he was going to die, the bomb cut out, and he was sent flying, landing on the concrete alley and skidding as he heard something thunk like a dropped anvil, only worse. He laid on the ground, laughing, and crying, and just so done with this fucking place.

Shakily getting to his feet, his legs felt like they were one massive bruise, but he could still walk. Gingerly stepping towards where the sphere had been he saw a tiny circular hole in the ground, maybe the size of a golfball, the concrete around it shattered. Taking out his phone he shone a light, and it went deep, farther than his light could carry. Finally looking around he saw the walls had been ripped away, as had been everything inside that wasn't tied down. He heard sobbing, and the groans of the building on either side and decided that he didn't want to stay there any longer than was necessary.

The universe does things in threes, Chuck reassured himself. That's three. I'm safe. I just need to go back to the apartment and go to sleep. Getting home, he pushed his way towards the front door. People were in the streets, moving everywhere. On one level that was fucking stupid, but apparently staying home could make you just as dead. He entered his apartment building, cursing the fact that it was on the third fucking floor with every step. Fumbling with his keys, he opened the door, wearily locking it behind him. Stumbling in, he relaxed, glad to be home. Finally.

He sat down at his desk, turning on his laptop to find out what the fuck was happening. Taking a deep breath, he was interrupted as his phone rang. He started to check his cell, only to realize the sound was coming from his bed. He let his landline ring, they could leave a fucking message, only to freeze as he realized he didn't have one.

Turning to look, he saw a black box sitting on his bed, the source of the sound. A holographic display appeared over the box, stating:

For: BadBoySlayer888, The best of hugs!

From: Bakuda, The best part of the ABB!

Then the box started screeching. A horrible tearing, angry not-noise that dragged nails across the chalkboard of his sanity. From the box emerged. . . His brain refused to see exactly what they were, just going: It's a Tentacle. Let's call it a Tentacle, and nothing else. The Tentacles reached out from the box, grasping at everything. One raked across the wall, dark blue fungus springing up wherever it touched. Another Tentacle grasped onto his pillow, wrenching it back into the box, which wasn't a box anymore. Yes it is! his mind told him. But if obviously wasn't, it was a- It's a BOX, just like those are Tentacles. He started to get up, to run, to get out, but his bed was between him and the door, as the Tentacles reached out towards him, questing, screeching, Staring. I should have just gotten eaten by that fucking black hole was his last thought, as certain death reached out to grasp him.


Charlie found himself floating in space, but not outer space. He hung, bodiless, in a place with no beginning or end. Prismatic clouds drifted all around, twisting, and changing, but in a kinda peaceful way. Am I dead? Did it get me? Is this, well, it isn't hell, is this Purgatory? Not having to run for his life was nice, but in an hour or two, this was going to get boring fast.

After a minute, or maybe an eon, he had no frame of reference, something in the distance moved, the clouds flying past him away from it, or he moved towards it, again, no way to tell how. Something happened, and he reached a break in the mist. It was an open column in the clouds, and he passed over a mountain range that encircled a lake, the hole in the fog extending eternally upwards over it. Either he was tiny, or the mountain range was fucking huge because it took a while. Eventually, he passed it and flew out over the lake, which was glowing, full of shifting blues and greens, with hints of reds, yellows, and every other color in it, including ones that he'd never seen before, and couldn't think of words to describe.

He flew on, formless, looking around without eyes, until he reached the center, slowing to a stop. He waited, for an immeasurable age, and felt more than saw something moving. The mountain range started to move, spinning and shifting. As the largest mountain moved, rising into the air his mind reorganized what he was seeing, and if he still had breath, it would've caught in his throat. The mountains, the coils of a spiked snake so big he couldn't understand, shifted, a head, the size of a moon, a planet, the sun, the goddamned solar system, rose to stare at him.

Jörmungandr? He thought, getting a sense of bemused negation from everywhere at once.

As it stared something absolutely tiny, detached itself from its head, so miniscule he could barely make it out. It moved towards him, slowly, with painstaking care. As it inched towards him it grew, slowly, from something the size of a speck of dust, to a blue stone he could hold in his hand, to something as big as he was. It grew, larger and larger, as it slowly moved towards him, only he realized it wasn't taking it's time, it was rocketing towards him so fast it was blueshifting. As it came closer he felt the air around him shaking, his vision blotting out before the crystal big enough to kill the dinosaurs, and growing.

He wanted to scream, to run, to escape, to laugh hysterically this ridiculous amount of overkill but he couldn't move, just float in this prismatic hell as a snake the size of the universe killed him with a rock big enough to destroy the sun! Just as the crystal, shifting from blue to a prismatic riot of multicolored death, was about to impact him, the world was consumed in flames of Neon Blue and Sand, and he felt a sense of amusement, mixed with anticipation.

The flames cleared, and he froze, a Tentacle an inch away from his face, but completely still. The screeching had stopped, and everything in the room was unmoving. Sliding away from it from where he'd fallen, he got to his feet, feeling good. Far better than he had any right to. Glancing out the window, he saw a distant bolt of lightning reaching up from the city into the sky, but heard no sound. Walking over to it he looked out and saw that everything, and everyone, out in the street was frozen in place. A flicker of movement caught his eyes and he saw people at the end of the street milling about fearfully as they stared at the frozen people. One guy was actively pulling at his arm, held in the air in front of him, completely motionless.

Holy shit. Did I stop time? Looking at the Tentacles, hanging in the air, he grabbed a wooden spoon and approached one of the limbs, poking it. Immediately the spoon started to sprout blue mushrooms. Jumping back and letting go of the utensil. It hung in the air where he dropped it, fungal growth halted.

Okay, What I'm holding still has time. Good. He stared at the Tentacles. I'm fuckin' leaving. He wasn't sure how long this was going to last, so, ducking around and under the things that tried to kill him, he made a circuit of the room, packing as much as he could. Between two duffle bags and a backpack, he stuffed them full of money, weapons, and the things he didn't want to leave behind like his laptop. It only took a few minutes according to his phone, which had no signal. Bags packed, he looked at the Tentacles and they stared hatefully back. Shuddering, he unlocked the door, leaving, and locking it behind him, knowing there was no way he was getting his security deposit back.

Climbing down the stairs two at a time, he was almost at the front door when the sound came back, making him jump. The screeching was back, and if anything, it sounded angrier, if that was possible. Running out the front door he looked up, seeing long, thick Tentacles, teeth gnashing in rage as they whipped out the window of his room, growing quickly.

People outside were stumbling, looking up, standing still while screaming in fear, and generally doing everything you weren't supposed to do in the horror movie tonight had become. Chuck ran as the tentacles flailed, gabbing a woman who shrieked out in pain so hard he thought her voice was going to snap. Another tentacle flailed down and he dodged it, only for a third to grab him around the arm and he knew why she was screaming, for he was as well. His nerves blazed in fire as he was dragged upwards, inwards, the Tentacle tearing and worming its way in him, devouring him as it pulled him back to his room and the BOX which opened it's maw and-

He stumbled, arms flailing, as the third tentacle missed him, grabbing an old man as he screamed with a pain Chuck knew. Blinking, heart hammering, he started to run, only for another Tentacle to wrap around his throat, devouring it's way up into his brain, eating his thoughts, his mind, his soul-

Falling on his ass the Tentacle whipped by, grabbing a metal pole and ripping it from the ground, wires sparking as fungus started to sprout along the paint, but not the rusted metal. Getting up, he swayed, but started to move again, dodging one Tentacle as it whipped by. They were going after him! He dodged a second and a third, only for a fourth to spear through his chest, Devouring-

With a force of will he broke from that reality, vision, future, twisting out of the way of the spearing Tentacle. I get it! I'm leaving! Running out of range of their growing limbs, running faster than he believed was possible, passing between people and vaulting over cars, the thing's SCREECHING reached a fever pitch before cutting out, leaving only the blessed sounds of explosions, chaos, and screaming.

He needed to get somewhere safe, as he'd gotten his second wind, and then some, but didn't know how long it would last. As for safety, that hotel he'd stayed at his first night seemed to be something straight out of John Wick, and if anyplace had checked for bombs, it would be there. He jogged in that direction, breaking into a bounding run, body light as he practically loped along, heading downtown.

Downtown was, if anything, worse and in a fit of why the fuck not he turned down an alley, taking a few steps up a wall before jumping onto a fire escape, swiftly climbing to the top. Running across the rooftop he reached the edge, following his instincts and pushing off as hard as he could he took a flying leap, near effortlessly crossing the thirty feet of street, foot smoothly landing on the ledge of the building as he continued on with a laugh and a smile.

After what he'd just survived, this was nothing.


He'd checked in, though they hadn't recognized him. The fact that he was grinning like a madman probably didn't help. He couldn't help it, this was the best he'd ever felt in his life. It was no wonder people got addicted to near-death experiences if this was the payoff! Humming to himself he checked in, dropped his bags on his bed, and stretched, bouncing on the balls of his feet, bursting with energy. Taking a deep breath, he centered himself, heading into the bathroom to clean off some of the mud, concrete dust, ash, and general grime from his face.

Washing it off, the water turning brown and red as it ran off him, he finally calmed. Looking into the mirror though, his heartrate spiked. He wasn't, well, him! The face that looked back at him appeared to be chiseled from stone, jawline sharp enough to cut steel, and not an ounce of fat to be seen. Stripping his shirt, which he realized was practically painted on, having to rip it to take it off, his gut was gone, replaced with. . . is it a six pack if there's eight? No wonder he was feeling good, apparently Super Space Snake Scales were like ultra-steroids. That or some of the drugs he'd taken had been steroids. And had taken a week to kick in. Without exercising. Is it bad that Super Space Snake Scales are the more likely answer?

Shaking his head, he sat down, shirtless, at the room's desk, taking out his laptop and turning it on to try to find out what the hell was going on. He took out his phone to try to do the same thing. He put his face in hands, exhaling at the ridiculousness of all of this. He checked out his muscles, because honestly, he'd never had muscles like this before. He stretched his arms out, releasing the last of the tension. He looked outside, seeing his reflection in the window. All six of them.

He was sitting in his chair, but he looked like something out of the Matrix, one of him leaning forward and looking up news sites, which had no idea what was going on, doing the same on his phone to similar results, feeling his muscles which felt solid in a way that he hadn't expected, putting his head in his hands, stretching, and looking out the window, all of him merging into each other like he was noclipping. The other five of him stopped what they were doing and turned to look at his reflections, merging into a single him.

What. The. Fuck.

He heard a chiming sound, three of him looking around for it in different directions, the sound coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" he demanded, ready for the next bomb, but nothing happened.

There was the sound of the chime again, and he heard someone female exhaling. 'Installation complete!' the voice, sounding somewhat British, informed him. 'Good evening Sir!'

"Um, who are you?" he asked the air.

'I am your A.I!' it responded cheerfully, a window opening in the air showing an attractive woman in black rimmed glasses, business attire, dark red hair contrasting with her bright green eyes and pale skin. Turning his head moved the window, and moving his hand in front of his eyes showed it was not actually in the air, but somehow overlaid on his vision. "You're a computer program?"

The woman laughed good naturedly, covering her mouth as she did. "Oh, no. I am an Abaddon Intelligence. Where are my manners? Introductions are needed. I am temporal shard, designation: Centauri, here to assist my user in the Primary's mission. In particular the destruction of Entity, designation: The Warrior!'