Okay, so, when I said just before posting the first chapter of The Romance of Crime-Fighting that I didn't have anything in the pipeline, I spoke too soon. I had a sudden bit of inspiration, what I needed for the Westworld crossover I was trying to do, and while it may not end up as a full fic, I think it still has potential, albeit as something of a crackfic.

Before I go onto that, though, I'd like to thank those who left positive reviews for that first chapter of The Romance of Crime-Fighting. I may get the inspiration to continue it one day, but unfortunately, I can't guarantee that any more than I can guarantee this story becoming a full fic.

Now, back to this fic. My little bit of inspiration came shortly after thinking about some of the things that happened in Westworld, and then, I remembered a line by Logan during one of the last episodes of the first series, basically saying, like Vegas, what happens in Westworld stays in Westworld. The conceptual link with Las Vegas reminded me of the famous Blood Brandy challenge, and there was my hook. What if Harry, somehow, ended up married to one of the Hosts? And what if said magical bond had given the Host sentience?

Choosing which Host to pair with Harry was actually fairly easy. I'm loath to break up Dolores and Teddy (and this story, should I ever do it, will ensure that they actually get a happy ending), and Armistice, while cool (and played by Ingrid Bolsø Berdal, whom I had already seen playing Angua from the adaptation of the Discworld novel Going Postal), lacks a certain depth. I decided on Maeve Millay, specifically a Maeve yet to encounter the Man in Black and be repurposed into a brothel madam.

Basically, this story can best be summed up as 'Master of Death Harry pranks the hell out of Delos Industries and helps save the Hosts'. It's a crack fic, or at least as cracky as my similar Final Fantasy XII crossover Nitimur in Vetitum.

It's worth pointing out that there's a fuckton of spoilers for the first season of the Westworld TV series. I spoil the identity of the Man in Black pretty early on, as well as Maeve's life before she was made into the Mariposa Saloon's madam. So, if you haven't watched Westworld, or all of the first season at least...well, you have been warned.


WHOM THE GODS WOULD DESTROY...

CHAPTER 1:

AN AGENT OF CHAOS

The Man in Black fled across the desert, and the Gunslinger followed(1).

Okay, it wasn't really a desert, more of a prairie, but the setting looked like something ripped out of the Wild West, and both participants in this chase were gunslingers. But it was the desire for a literary reference that counted, and both participants would have appreciated it, even if it was a little forced. And unlike the characters of said reference, they were on horseback.

Eventually, though, the chaser grew tired of the chase, and waved what looked like a stick whittled by someone with too much time and artistic inclination on their hands. His victim was hoisted into the air with a yelp of surprise, something that the Man in Black wasn't used to (both yelping in surprise and being hoisted into the air by apparently nothing at all), and ended up being dropped on the ground, sprawling with a groan of pain and irritation. His hunter eventually stopped near him, and dismounted from his horse. "Okay," rasped the Man in Black, as he stood up shakily, an older man in his late sixties, fit, but showing his age. "One, you might want to get that stomach wound I gave you checked out. It was an accident. I can understand you being a bit upset about it, but I was going for the Host, and you had to play the hero."

"I wasn't playing," his nemesis growled.

"Which brings me neatly to my next point. That's number two, if you ain't paying attention. It was a dick move, musclin' in on your claimed territory, I'll admit that. But point number two is, they're just machines. Hey, it was a pretty damn hard lesson for me to learn too. You're new to this place, I can tell. Three, at the risk of sounding like some rich asshole who buys his way out of trouble with money and influence, you gotta know, I practically own this place, so you'd better think very carefully about what you're about to do to me. Once you get your stomach checked out, I'll let you get in a few hits on me for free, work out your frustrations, but that's it. Fourthly, what the actual fuck did you do to me?"

"Fuck you, that's what," his nemesis said. "By the way, about the wound you gave me, don't worry about it. I've had worse." He lifted his shirt, to reveal that, while there was still blood present, there was no wound.

The Man in Black goggled. "What the hell? You some kind of new Host? No, the smart gun didn't work on you…unless…you some test subject of experimental nanobots or something?"

"Just…something. Let's just say that I'm more like these poor sods stuck in here than I'd care to think…only I remember. Now, technically, I can kill you. The problem is, that'd bring down the wrath of the security people on me, and while I can handle them, I can't be arsed dealing with that bullshit right now. I've had a very bad year. Buried my wife, my kids don't want to talk to me…"

"Join the club, kid," the Man in Black said morosely, before he peered at the young man, who appeared to be in his early twenties at the oldest, with a messy thatch of black hair, and emerald eyes peering out from behind glasses. "Hey, how can you have kids old enough to not want to talk to you?"

"I'm older than I look. Anyway, my point is, because I don't want to kill you, I'm going to have to get creative. And considering that my father, godfather, and uncle were masters of pranking back at my old alma mater, well, I have to say, sucks to be you. Then, once I'm done with you, I'm going to head back to that homestead, share a drink with that nice woman I was getting to know over the past few days, and try to forget what getting gutted feels like…"


When the security squad led by Ashley Stubbs finally found their quarry, or one of them at least, he was tied to a tree, dressed as Dr Frank N Furter, and singing in a trance, off-key, Sweet Transvestite from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. If it weren't for the restrictions against data going out of the park, he would have had photos and video taken of him and uploaded to the internet already. Stubbs himself could barely contain his laughter as he untied William Regis(2), one of their top investors and a member of the Delos board.

William seemed to shake himself out of his trance as he was untied. He looked down at himself, and sighed in irritation. "Stubbs, I think we may have a problem."

"We?" Stubbs asked, looking pointedly at William's getup.

"Yes, we, because I sure as hell can't remember what the fuck happened last night, and I'm sure alcohol wasn't involved, given the lack of headache or traffic cone(3), and I'm pretty sure I'm not a Host, with all the memory wiping that entails. Maybe you should take me to that Bernard Lowe guy or something to make sure. But I know for a fact that I was not wearing this fucking getup when I came in."

"No, sir," Stubbs said, as respectfully as he could given this man's current state of dress. He had to be respectful, given the man's position on their board, but it was hard to do so, understandably.

"Then tell me, Stubbs, is there anything you can do or say to enlighten me as to why I ended up like this?"

"Not you specifically. But we did have notification of two Hosts suddenly disappearing. Maeve Millay and her daughter, Linda(4). They disappeared from the homestead, with tracking suddenly vanishing. We knew you were in the area, along with another guest, but something prevented us from pinpointing your location until now."

"Sabotage?"

"We don't know, everything seemed to check out. And if it was, then they're better than anything we've had to deal with."

"Are my clothes nearby, or did that asshole take them with him?"

Stubbs shrugged, indicating a folded bundle nearby, with William's distinctive black hat on top of it. Underneath the hat was a note, which he unfolded and peered at.

Congratulations! Your performance has gone viral on YouTube! You're an internet sensation, Wild Bill Smallcock! Let this be the first round of our game!

The name of the game is: Humiliation! For, you see, the word 'humiliation' comes from the same root word as 'humble', and I think you need a metric fuckton of humbling. You like to play games, right? With high stakes? Well, congratulations, you dried-up old turd! You get to play it. Oh, and so does any other staff member of Westworld I see fit to. Hmm, I wonder where Dr Ford is?

Hugs and kisses,

Son of Prongs

William Regis was angry. So angry that he was calm. Unnaturally so. "And has video of me in that state made it to YouTube?"

"I don't know. I could always call and find out," Stubbs said.

"Do that. And make sure whoever uploaded it is tracked down. I want in on his questioning," William said. He looked down at his getup. "Goddammit, he's ruined Rocky Horror for me now. That's even more reason to track that son of a bitch down…"


The problem was with immortality, Harry Potter reflected as he woke with a splitting headache, was that it did sweet fuck all against hangovers. Probably stopped his brain cells from being killed off by alcohol and its metabolic byproducts, never mind other things (like the ravages of time, bullets, curses, etc), but it didn't do much to prevent him from getting drunk, and facing the consequences.

Then again, he wanted to. Get drunk and hungover. He'd been doing so during the past couple of years, ever since the attack on the Battle of Hogwarts Reunion. The one that left his wife and children, not to mention most of his friends, dead. The one that forced his exile from Magical Britain after his rampage against the survivors, and the reveal of his immortality. Being the Master of Death, or at least her little bitch.

Of his core friends, only Hermione and Luna were left alive. Hermione had sunken into a funk at the demise of her husband, and was throwing herself into her work at the Department of Mysteries. Luna was a little better, but she too was working more than she used to, her usual air of dottiness diminished.

It had been Luna, actually, who had suggested Delos Destination's set of oversized theme parks for the ultra-rich and powerful. Neither of them accompanied him, but Harry, after some pestering, eventually went, taking everything he owned in a special trunk with expanded space inside. Before the trauma, Hermione and Luna had called it 'the TARDIS', despite the fact it couldn't time travel. But, thanks to Shrinking Charms, he could take it everywhere he wanted to. Plus, he had enough money to stay at Westworld for weeks if he wanted to.

He had to admit, he was both impressed and unimpressed with Westworld. The park itself was a technological wonder, based on a terraformed island somewhere off the coast of China, as were its fellow parks, like Shogunworld, or The Raj. And the Hosts were ridiculously lifelike.

But the way it was set up, allowing people to fuck and kill practically anyone they wanted, with little in the way of consequences…Harry felt himself disturbed. If the Hosts were less lifelike, closer to NPCs from an old video game or something, he wouldn't have been. But he found himself being forced to drive off one guest who was attacking a ranch. He'd hidden his magic from the Hosts, and had managed to get away with Obliviating him and sending him to the saloon back in Sweetwater, and had eventually made his farewells to Dolores and Teddy (he had to admit, he was attracted to Dolores, but he also thought her relationship with Teddy was rather sweet, so he left the two love birds to mourn Dolores' parents: their emotions seemed too realistic to be mere robots), before heading out.

It was a few days later that he stumbled across the homestead of Maeve Millay and her daughter. Her backstory was that she had emigrated to the US from Britain, her husband had been killed by an outlaw, and she was raising her child by herself. In this rather tougher, older woman, Harry actually found something a bit more enjoyable than the general delights of Sweetwater, and he stayed with the Millays, drinking perhaps too much in front of the girl, but certainly doing little that was embarrassing to either, just reminiscing about his own family, now dead and buried.

Over the few days he was here, he actually grew to like Maeve. He guessed that her personality was programmed to grow to like guests too, but it felt comforting to have someone to talk to. Whereas Dolores seemed meant to be a damsel in distress, to be rescued by Teddy or a chivalrous guest (or be raped by a more nasty one), Maeve was more seasoned, tougher, somewhat cynical, but still with a good nature. It didn't hurt that she was easy on the eyes, either. Then again, technically, the Hosts were, theoretically, all there to have sex with if one felt so inclined (Harry had to wonder whether that meant those in charge had ensured that even for the kid Hosts, and felt sickened at the thought of a guest doing something like that), but Harry wasn't looking just for a quick tumble in the hay. Otherwise, he would have accepted Clementine's offer in the Mariposa Saloon at Sweetwater.

And then, the natives came.

It seemed like such a very politically incorrect cliché out of some bad Western to have a hostile group of Indians swoop in and attack, scalping anyone who wasn't one of them. Harry knew that, if he ever got out of this, he was going to have some rather severe words with whoever was in charge of the stories here…


In his quarters, Lee Sizemore sneezed twice, before shivering with a sense of foreboding.


He had helped fight off the Indians, but retreated with Maeve and Linda into the house, ready to help her fight them off. But then, someone else swooped in and stopped the Indians. Unfortunately, their erstwhile saviour turned out to be anything but. A man dressed all in black, older, but still filled with vitality. He had peered at Harry, and had mused out loud whether he was a guest or a Host.

You tryin' to be like Teddy, kid? Those were his words.

He then fired his gun, and while the smart guns didn't actually do any lasting physical harm to guests, they still had the impact of a paintball gun, and Harry had been shocked by a guest attacking him that he had fallen down, only to find the Man in Black advancing on Maeve with a knife, about ready to gut her. And Harry, being the Gryffindor that he was, interposed himself just in time for the Man in Black to gut him.

That seemed to shock the Man in Black, who fled after a moment. Harry pursued him shortly thereafter, and managed to catch the old fucker. While giving him some much-needed retribution, he also used Legilimency to look into the man's mind, and, like many times he had done so, he promptly regretted it. William Regis' mind was a cesspool, and while he felt a little sorry for what happened to him during his first time in Westworld, with that twat Logan Delos, the truth was, the nice guy William used to be had transformed into something nasty.

Still, Harry now had information, on how this place worked, who ran it, and thus, who to target. He was going to be like the Krampus, going after those on Santa's Naughty List. Or was that Deadpool?

Anyway, he had gone back to the Millays, escorted them gently into his trunk, and into the rooms, gone back out, shrunk the trunk, Apparated back to the Abernathy ranch, placed the trunk in the store room, and then went back in. Linda got the guest bedroom, and Harry was going to sleep on the lounge while Maeve slept in his bed…

Except that wasn't how the night went, was it? He'd gotten to talking to Maeve. They had been bonding over drinks, and Maeve seemed so alive, and then…

Harry finally realised, now that he was awake and shaking away most of the cobwebs, that something was very wrong. He was in his bed, with the warmth of a body next to him. He looked over, and saw the dark skin of Maeve (thankfully, they were both still clothed, even if only in pyjamas), her features in gentle repose, although she too was stirring. For her apparent age, she was still quite desirable.

Eventually, she woke up, sitting up in bed, and then looked at him, frowning. "Good morning," she said. "I have to ask you…what the hell happened last night?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

She just held up her hand…showing the Potter family ring on it. One that showed that they were, effectively, married. "Last night, you spoke in a mirror to a friend of yours, Luna, was it? She said something about how marrying me would 'clear away the Wrackspurts' in both of us, whatever that meant, and she officiated the ceremony. Then, after I put this on…I remembered everything. I can think more clearly than I ever have done before. And the only things that stop me from killing you are the fact that you helped us against that man, and you have never been one of our tormentors. So…I want explanations, Harry Potter. I want to know what the hell I am, who the hell you are, and what is going on with this place…"

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

So, Harry's rescued the Millays from William…and has ended up getting hitched to Maeve, Blood Brandy-style. Oh, and William has been utterly humiliated. A shame, I mean, I like Ed Harris as an actor, but the Man in Black is a serious psycho.

1. This opening line was also the opening line for The Gunslinger, the first novel in Stephen King's The Dark Tower series.

2. As yet, William doesn't have a last name. Given how the original Westworld film was written by Michael Crichton, I chose a surname of a rather jerky character from the original novel of Jurassic Park. Given how 'Regis' evokes 'regal', and William is one of the key board members and thus a king of sorts in Westworld, I thought it apt.

3. According to the Red Dwarf episode The Last Day, it's not a good night unless you wake up, hungover, next to a traffic cone.

4. Maeve's daughter is never named, so I chose Linda, after Thandie Newton's character from The Pursuit of Happyness.