AN: Got a new story. Kinda. Short version is, this thing we're doing with alternating story arcs means that one of us ends up sidelined for a good amount of time while the other is working on their arc. Auto especially, because I'm working on multiple ongoing stories right now, so not working on Archetypal just delays the amount of time till Auto can tag in even more. So, here's our solution. Archetyplets. Short ficlets Auto can write at his leisure when I'm taking too long to get on with things. These are all his, so be sure to allow that factoid to color your opinion of what follows.

Sid Gets Her First Hit

On first glance, Sid Chang was not what would be expecting of someone channeling the Assassin Archetype.

The word "Assassin" itself brought many things to mind. Images of stone-faced men in black with rifles at their side, seductive women with poison tipping their manicured finger tips, fanatical warriors in ragged robes could be conjured, but not the image of an otherwise ordinary young girl with exposed shoulders.

Sid herself wasn't exactly too comfortable with being an Assassin either, which was why she didn't flaunt or advertise her Archetype the way some of her classmates (especially Stella) did. Which was why she was shocked when she checked her mailbox one day and found an unmarked letter filled with neatly bound dollars bills and a note constructed of letters cut from a magazine:

ASS-ASSINATE LINCOLN LOUD.

Sid read and reread those three words around twenty times before they actually sank in.

"Oh dear," was all she could say.

She had to sit down. She was trembling. She knew Lincoln had invoked the ire of many—being a member of the Anti-Harem Club, she knew all too well—but still, this was too extreme, wasn't it? Putting out the hit on a child...poor Lincoln.

But despite thinking that, a deep part of her nature was also moved to completing the task given to her by the mystery client. She couldn't refuse it, she was an Assassin with a capital A after all.

"B-but I don't want to kill Lincoln! I can't...but I have to!"

The will of her Archetype and the will of her kindly resolve warred with each other, like primordial forces clashing with enough impact to birth universes. She pondered what to do, feeling more shaky and sickly by the second. In desperation, she picked up the note and read it again, hoping she had misunderstood before…

She didn't, but she did notice something interesting that didn't pique her attention before.

"A colon?" She squinted at the colon breaking the first word. "Is there a colon in assassinate?"

Just to be sure, she checked her helpful dictionary and discovered that there wasn't.

"Huh," she remarked, now looking less horrified and more confused. "So either whoever sent this note misspelled what they meant, or...or maybe they're asking for something else? But what?"

She pondered that for a moment, and when she came upon a potential meaning, her face turned red.

"Still...I think I can do that. It's better than the alternative, at least..."

The next day at Archetype Academy, Lincoln was doing his usual thing of avoiding drawing attention to himself as he walked down the hall. Nobody said anything to him as he reached his locker, which made him sigh, both from relief and from a slight feeling of lonely resentment.

"Oh well," he said, stuffing his backpack into his locker, "guess it could always be worse."

Then, he noticed a shadow falling on him and his locker. He looked over his shoulder to see Sid standing behind him. The look in her eyes was cold and determined, the glare of a killer. But what really made Lincoln's eyes widen was the pistol in her hands.

"Uh...hey Sid?"

Without a word, she raised the pistol so that it was pointing at him, and Lincoln didn't even have time to scream before she pulled the trigger…

...and something small yet painful struck his butt.

"Ow!" he cried. "Is that a BB gun?"

Sid didn't answer. Instead, she unloaded her entire cartridge of BBs on her target's rear. Lincoln jumped and howled as she did. When she finally ran out, she smiled at the squirming boy. "How does your ass feel?" she asked.

"It feels numb! Like it's dead!" he shouted.

"Excellent." The young Assassin pulled out a pair of shades and slapped them on her face. "Then my work here is done."

She walked off slowly, like an action hero movie walking away from an explosion. Unfortunately, her slow walking meant it was easy for Principal Huggins to catch up to her, confiscate her BB gun, and drag her back to his office for in-school suspension.


The Amazing Super Lori and the Terrifying and Tumultuous Tumble with the Tyrannical Tetherby (featuring Wonder Carol)

The fortress of Lord Tetherby was immense and imposing, with dark towers that poked the sky with their sharp tips. The walls surrounding his compound were nearly five layers thick, each layer made of a different alloy, but they all proved meek before the mighty fist of Lori Loud.

"HIYAAAAA!"

She punched through the wall, sending chunks of it flying towards Thetherby's robotic minions. The ones that were spared the debris then found themselves being roped together by a great lasso. They were brought to the center, where they saw another blonde Superhero, one Carol Pingrey, blow them a kiss right as she took aim at them with an explosive arrow.

She let the arrow loose, and they were all destroyed in a fiery explosion.

"Have to say, I'm really happy Tetherby doesn't hire human help," said Carol as Lori lowered herself to her side. "We'd have to be a lot more delicate with these cases."

"I don't know," said Lori self-consciously. "Don't you ever feel...I don't know, bad for the robots?"

Carol blinked, then realized what was going on.

"You've been spending too much time watching those robot anime with Lincoln, huh?"

"Maybe robots can literally learn to love too!" cried Lori, her cheeks warmer than her laser vision.

"Look, we can debate the double standard of destroying robots versus destroying humans later, but right now, we kinda have an evil scheme to foil."

"Oh, right." Lori clenched her gloved fist, and glared determinedly into the distance. "I don't know what's going on, or why Lord Tetherby has relocated himself and a lot of his wealth and assets to this island off the coast of East Africa, but whatever is going on is bad and we have to stop him. Come on!"

With super-speed, the two raced through the compound, occasionally dodging the bullets fired at them by torrents and robot guards. They made their way all the way to the center, where a large mansion awaited them. Lori smashed down the large metal door, and to their surprise, they found Lord Tetherby himself waiting for them in the main hall.

"Ah, Lori and Carol," he said, taking a puff from his cigar. He was dressed in silky robes, and in his other hand he swirled a round glass of red wine. "It is indeed good to see you two again, my dear girls."

"We didn't come here to chat, Tetherby," said Lori. "We literally came here to stop you."

The old man rolled his eyes, annoyed. "One thing I haven't missed is your frequent invocation of that dreaded l-word, as I've come to call it. Though, I suppose in this context, its usage would be correct. You did literally come here to stop me, after all."

"Yeah, so tell us; what are you doing here in Africa?" growled Carol. "Are you here to buy up precious mines, force children to mine in them, and suck away the valuable wealth away from countries that need them and put them in your personal bank account?"

"Oh, goodness, no. Do I look like Elon Musk to you?" Tetherby shook his head. "My dear girls, I have come to these desperate lands to save people."

"Literally bullshit."

"Ugh, such foulness. But I'm telling the truth. Feel free to check my computers."

Tetherby gestured to a nearby computer implanted in the wall. Lori gestured for Carol to check it out, but she kept her eyes on Tetherby. One wrong move, and she wouldn't hesitate to laser this vile old man.

"Uh, Lori...he's telling the truth."

Literally what?

"All the money here...it's going to hospitals and schools and desalination plants and...and peace efforts! Lori, he's actually paying mercenaries to go home."

"What? But...but...but that's impossible! He's lying, he has to be. The records are fake!"

Carol shook her head. "Lori, these are his own private records and accounts. The only way they could be wrong is if he accidentally got them wrong."

"I don't want to say I told you so~" sang Tetherby in a nascent tune.

Lori's head jerked away from Carol and towards Tetherby. Something wasn't right, she could sense it in her gut. No way that Lord Tetherby, one of the greediest, nastiest, and most downright sociopathic individuals she had ever had the misfortune of meeting, would actually give up his wealth to help complete strangers. Especially when there were no cameras around for it.

"What's your game, Tetherby? If you think I'll actually believe you've gone humanitarian, you've got another thing coming."

The pudgy man sighed, and shook his head. "It seems there's no getting past you, Lori Loud," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Very well, I'll tell you. The reason I've been spending my wealth on rebuilding these parts isn't for some vague ideal of 'helping others' or whatever nonsense they tried to teach me at Sunday School. No, the real reason is because I'm helping one person specifically."

"And who would that be?"

"Why, my Tanzanian prince cousin, of course!"

"AHA! I knew you...I'm sorry, hold on," said Lori, pausing for a moment. On the other side of the room, Carol's mouth looked like it was about to fall, that's how hard she was gaping. Lori tried to make sure she heard correctly, then repeated, in a soft voice, "Did you say Tanzanian prince cousin?"

"Indeed! You see, a good while ago, I was testing out this new 'eemail' technology when I received a warm letter from family I had never known! My cousin Ja'ck McNambia revealed himself to me, and asked for a small donation that, in exchange, he would repay unto me tenfold! Touched by his kindness, I decided to do him one better; I would come to the Dark Continent, restore his kingdom and those around it, and he will be so thankful that he will join me in conquering the Earth and all its riches that are ours by right!"

When he concluded revealing his ingenious plan, he couldn't help but note the pity in Lori and Carol's eyes.

"What? What is it? Has my ability for long-term strategics left you stunned? Or are you horrified to hear of the existence of a man just as fearsome, just as wealthy, and just as diabolical as I am?"

"Uhhhhhhhhhh...yeah, that, whatever you said," muttered Carol. "Keep, uh, keep up the good work here in Africa. We'll just go now..."

Tetherby watched the two fly off, and he wondered if he should think too much about their strange reactions.

Nah, not right now. He had thousands of dollars of food to distribute to a nearby village. Mwahahahahahahahaha!


An Order He Can't Refuse

Chandler was walking home from the pharmacy, some bandages and ointment and other miscellaneous medical equipment in a small bag in his hand, when he bumped into someone on the sidewalk.

It had been partially his fault, as he should've been paying attention to the path instead of looking into his bag, but Chandler was too abrasive to let things go like this.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" he shouted at the man walking past him.

The man turned, an angry scowl on his face.

"Screw you, kid," he said, flipping Chandler the bird. "Go fuck yourself."

Chandler was about to respond to him, but found that he couldn't. Instead, his body took on a life of its own, turned him around, and began walking towards his house. At first, he was confused, but then he remembered what had been said to him.

"Oh no...oh no no no NO!"

Chandler went inside, went into the bathroom, and watched in horror as his hands, beyond his control, began unzipping his pants.

What happened next? Let's just say those bandages and ointment came in handy later.


Caged Jordan

When Girl Jordan came to, she groaned as she rubbed her head. It felt sore, like someone had struck her on her crown. After sufficiently soothing it, she blinked her eyes rapidly to dispel the blurriness in her vision. When she could finally see clearly, she saw that she was inside a cage.

"Oh," she said with mild surprise. "How did I get in here?"

Like that was her cue, the grinning face of Stella popped up from behind the bars. "Good morning, Girl Jordan," said the Dark Lord smugly. "Or should I say...good night! Um, no, wait, that's what you say to someone if they're going to sleep...but it is nighttime, so I can't tell you—"

"Stella, what's going on?"

"FOOL!" Stella threw back her head and laughed in the most cartoonish fashion. "You don't remember, Girl Jordan? Allow me to illuminate the path of misfortunate choices you made that brought you here..."

"Hey Girl Jordan?"

"Please just call me Jordan. And what's up, Stella?"

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, GIRL JORDAN, I GIVE THE ORDERS HERE! Anyway...do you mind turning around for me?"

"Like this?"

"Yes...exactly like that."

"And that was when I hit you on the head with my trusty wrench," said Stella pridefully, spinning a wrench in hand. "And with you unconscious, I was able to bring you here, to this cage, and to lock you inside! Finally, with my great nemesis out of the way, I can begin taking the first steps in my path towards true evil! A dark nightmarish reign of a thousand eons begins now, and you won't be able to stop me!"

Stella looked back at her captive rival, a triumphant glint in her eyes. "How do you feel about that, Girl Jordan?"

Girl Jordan shrugged her shoulders. "Eh."

"That's right! You...wait, what?"

"Eh. That's what I said."

Stella blinked, confused. Her body sagged, like all the bombastic energy was physically draining out of her before Girl Jordan's eyes. "Eh?" she repeated. "Eh?! What do you mean 'eh'?!"

"I mean, it's pretty comfortable in here," said Girl Jordan, patting the smooth floor of her prison. Her jeweled bracelet shook on her wrist as she did. "And well, I don't know, it's really stressful out there. I have to spend all day at school training to be a Hero, and then spend whatever time I have left over either doing homework or fighting Husks. This is...this is nice. I can relax here."

Stella, still too stunned to speak, could only weakly whimper as her captice reclined on the floor and produced a book from her backpack. "Yeah, this is a nice chance to catch up on my reading," said Girl Jordan. "I've spent weeks wondering if it was the butler or the cook that killed Mrs. Burroughs, now can finally—"

"No!" shouted Stella. "Absolutely not! Get out of the cage, we're changing things up!"

Girl Jordan shrugged again, then stepped out as Stella opened the door for her. Then to Girl Jordan's surprise, Stella stepped into the cage and locked the door on herself. She tossed out the keys through the bars, and laid herself on the ground, cackling cruelly.

"I've forced you from your luxurious retreat, Girl Jordan! Now watch as I enjoy it in your stead! Ha ha, I win Girl Jordan. No matter what you do, I win!"

"Yep," said Girl Jordan as she began walking away. "You sure outsmarted me, Stella. You win, I lose. Gosh darn it, maybe next time I'll come out on top."

Stella watched Girl Jordan go, leave her locked in the cage behind her. She was proud of her victory, sure, but one thing she didn't understand was why Girl Jordan seemed to be smirking as she left.


Why Lori Wasn't Allowed to Play Tag

Elementary school; a simpler time, a calmer time. A time before the hustle and bustle of life reveals itself, and children are free to play in blissful ignorance of what waits ahead.

On the playground, a young Carol rushed up to Whitney. With a playful giggle, she tapped her. "Tag, you're it!" she declared before she ran off. She was too far out of Whitney's reach now, so she turned to another target.

"Tag, you're it!" she cried as she tagged Lori, lightly shoving her in the process. Lori watched as she too ran off, and a look of determination crossed her young face. She looked around for someone else to tag, and she found her target in Roger.

She rushed up to him, a bit too quickly.

"Tag, you're it!"

...

Six minutes, thirty-seven seconds later, command in Moscow was alerted to the fact that a young Amerikanet boy had just collided with one of their satellites.