"Not a chance." Noire folded her arms, and pointed her head up. The other Goddesses that were present for the summit decided to just shift awkwardly as Jack glared at Noire. James stood to a side of the room, whistling gently to himself as he zeroed the scope of his Arctic Warfare using a maid's head as his reference.
"What? Why? C'mon, it's not that much of an ask," Jack retorted, moving his arms for emphasis, and dropping his shotgun from his shoulder into his waiting hands. "It's not like we can't defend ourselves."
"It rather is," Blanc said calmly, "And it's also an idiotic suggestion." Jack sighed.
"We just wanna go see if they're out there." There was a momentary pause, the only sound being the faint clik as James turned the scope of his rifle another point. Finally, Vert stepped forwards, hands clasped in front of her as they usually were.
"And we know they're out there," she said warmly, "You should know they're out there. You kicked one of them in the face. That's proof enough that any of your worldsmen you encounter will be hostile." Jack moved his left arm in exasperation, momentarily facepalmed, and then gestured at her.
"Look, no matter how much you bring it up, I'm still gonna refuse to acknowledge that guy's existence. He's a fuckin' Communist," the green-shirted man said matter-of-factly. "And for all I care, that dick'ead can rot in prison, which he fuckin' would have done if he kept livin' in Eastern Europe, the twat."
"You kicked out a tooth," Vert replied flatly, her smile dropping to a more serious expression. "He's demanded to know who you are and wants you to meet him in prison, and I quote, 'so he can extract your fingernails and...have violent intercourse with every female you know of'." Blanc shifted uncomfortably, going slightly red at the thought.
"Well, that pussy'd need to go fuck himself as well. I've visited Glasgow, I know what a fuckin' prison's like, no chance of me goin' there again." He turned briefly to Noire, who was inhaling to call him a crook. "And fuck you, I said before, I'm an Englishman, not a fuckin' Australian." Noire let out a series of grumbles, folding her arms and pouting huffily. James paused his rifle inspection to clear his throat, turning the nine other eyes in the room towards him.
"Ah, just thought I'd chip in?" The other goddesses nodded. Neptune scrunched her nose, not really understanding why it was such a big deal, but nodded anyway. "One, Jack's actually Scottish. Not an Englishman." Jack offered a lethal glare.
"That makes me more than qualified to shove a claymore up your arsehole, you Welsh cunt," he growled, jabbing a finger towards him. Noire winced at the unusually harsh use of language.
"And two," James continued undeterred, "I don't see any issues with us going out to hunt for other guys from our world. If they are, as you said, 'hostile', we'd be doin' a good deed by bringin' them down. If they're not tryin' to kill us, then they can help with your problems, like we are." The goddesses looked at each other momentarily, different looks on each of their faces showing conflicting views. Finally, Neptune spoke up.
"I think it's a great idea!" she beamed, bouncing slightly. "I see absolutely no flaws with this, and you'd be able to have your own spin-off story from the main show!" Jack frowned.
"There it is again, you refer to a 'show' and a 'story', what do you even fuckin' mea-?"
"Mr. Hillman's point in mind," Vert interrupted, "This seems like a much more reasonable plan. However, we would need a way to keep an eye on you. Otherwise, I can accept this idea." Blanc, looking up, nodded.
"I suppose Mr. Hillman made a good point," she added quietly. "Thus, as Vert mentioned, I would accept if there were an easy way to watch over you two."
"Maybe we could just get someone we trust to follow them?" Noire suggested, unfolding her arms and putting her right hand on her hip. "That way, if they try to run, it can not only be reported, but also stopped right then and there!" Jack and James looked at each other, in the way that both lads had agreed meant that the suggestion being made would probably get them killed in some way, shape, or form. The goddesses, completely blind to the larger boys' worried looks, nodded eagerly and let out a small chorus of approval.
"I shall contact Leanbox's SMD," Vert smiled, withdrawing a phone from her cleavage and tapping some buttons. "We could certainly have an agent on standby, I'm sure of it."
Jack had a look of absolute confusion now plastered on his face as he looked at Vert. "Were you genuinely storin' that phone in your tits?" he asked bluntly. Vert nodded without hesitation, as Blanc frowned slightly.
"I also store a live firearm in my bosom, as well as my emergency money and a hand warmer." Jack stared in complete and utter bewilderment, and James looked at Vert with interest.
"...fuckin' hell, if you don't mind me askin'," Jack continued, "Is the gap, like, a bottomless hammerspace or summat? I can barely even conceal a Beretta inside my shirt, and you just store money and guns inside your boobs." Vert folded her arms and thought for a moment, her sad blue eyes looking up in thought as she gave her usual warm smile. Blanc's eye started twitching.
"I have not tested that, yet," she noted. "I may try that." Jack gave a grunt of acknowledgement as Vert turned away. "Then it's settled. I shall notify Oracle Hakozaki to requisition an SMD agent. They'll be present and waiting for you when you next return to Leanbox." Jack's jaw nearly dropped as the goddesses moved away in their small group, on the way to their treaty discussion. He was trying to figure out how the hell they'd have a bloke ready with such little need, but apparently that was a normal thing for them to do. He kept his shotgun carried in his hands, and turned to look at James.
"After a year of workin' with the most underfunded project in the whole fuckin' world," he began, "Did that seem like it was too convenient to you?" James shrugged, clicking his rifle scope a few more times.
"Depends," said the Welshman as they both turned and began to move towards the basilicom's balcony area that they'd been visiting for the past few days, "Was the project really underfunded? They had us talkin' to SAS guys every other day, Rangers on other days, and drillin' hundreds of rounds down range on others. I'm just glad that they deemed drill movements unnecessary. That'd have been even more expensive and annoyin'."
"Fuck drill. And you've got a point. Anyway, why're we bein' babysat? We've already shown we can handle ourselves."
"Speak for yourself," James retorted, "One of those fuckin' Ancient Dragons nearly killed me when I first showed up in Lowee. Blanc saved me, I owe her my life." Jack looked at him, raising a brow as he held the door open for James to pass through.
"Are you fuckin' havin' a laugh? Are you a knight or some bollocks? You owe her a few favours, but not your whole fuckin' life."
"Oh, fuck off, I don't know why I bothered tellin' you about my sense of honour, anyway."
"Because I'm practically your best mate." James considered this for a moment as they sat down on chairs, overlooking Lowee. It was snowing rather heavily, but neither of them particularly cared.
"Fair point..." James mused. "But, anyway, I think it might be good for us. We'd have someone with us who knows what they're doin' and where they're goin'. Plus, for all we know, might be a woman, and you know how much I like the ladies here."
"They're barely up to your bloody chin, James," Jack said sharply, jabbing a finger at him as the greasy-haired boy laughed. "Plus, they're way too innocent to even think about in a dirty way. Look at Tekken: Poor lass was terrified when we came in! Shakin' like a lamb, I tell you."
"Then you hold them close and tell them it'll be OK," James said, flashing a grin. Jack rolled his eyes.
"Fuckin' creep. Anyway, besides them bein' too innocent, there's also none that I've found particularly attractive." Jack made every effort not to look like he was thinking of MAGES.' undeniably amazing body.
"The fuck is wrong with you, lately?" James groaned. "Back home, you went on about girls all the time! Like...what's her face...Gwyneth somethin' or other?"
"Gwyneth Paltrow," Jack corrected as he pulled out his Skorpion and began to adjust its sighting, still trying to avoid giving away that he had compared MAGES. to Gwyneth Paltrow, "And she's hot because she's a tall redhead with long legs and she's apparently a nice woman. It's not all about looks, you knob'ead."
"Well, hold out, mate," James shrugged, "For all we know, there's a redhead out there that fits your bill and mindset."
"Already said, James, not here for women. Here for action."
"And with women you can get some action."
"Shut up. Why're we even out here?"
"Exposition, I suppose."
"Exposition?"
"Yeah, exposition, for the story."
"Fuckin' hell, can you please just tell me how this is a fuckin' story?!"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"No! Not at fuckin' all!"
"Then you're a fuckin' dick'ead."
"How?! For not knowin' what the fuck everyone means by this bein' a story?!"
"Basically. Anyway, did you even pick up on the goddesses representin' games consoles from Earth?"
"...what...?"
"You didn't pick up on the country names?"
"...no...?"
"Lowee? The Wii? Lastation? Playstation? Leanbox? Xbox?"
"Fuck off, are those related. Fine. Then what's Planeptune?"
"Like fuck if I know. But think about it! Lady Noire runs Lastation, and if I remember rightly from those French lessons where I wasn't asleep, 'Noire' means 'Black'. And what colour is a Playstation 3?"
"Depends if you got it in a special edi-"
"Black. Same with Lady Blanc. 'Blanc' means 'White'. And what colour is a Wii console?"
"Mine was bla-"
"Fuck off, they're white."
"Fine. Then what're the younger sisters representin'?"
"Maybe...other consoles? Rom and Ram might be a nod to the DS."
"How? They're two separate fuckin' people, James. I'd be pretty pissed off if I needed to carry two separate parts for a handheld console."
"They might be top and bottom screens."
"You're thinkin' about this too hard. Anyway, the only thing I've seen here that's remotely gamin' related is Tekken. Because she's called Tekken."
"Never played it. Was it good?"
"Meh, it was good. Definitely deserved credit for bein' fun, but I think people mostly ignored it because of fuckin' Street Fighter. That game was fuckin' terrible."
"Like how people preferred Call of Duty over games like Battlefield, even though they were literally the same fuckin' thing?"
"Basically, yeah. Most fighters were the same, and so were shooters."
"Well, alright then: What was your idea of a great game?"
"I liked classic shooters the best. Y'know, like Doom, and Quake, and Serious Sam. That kinda stuff, where you had ridiculous guns and speed and whatnot. Though, I was partial to a bit of modern FPS action, top-down, and third person shooters every once in a while."
"I remember when you invited me over and we ended up playin' that Hotline Miami game. That was a great night."
"Certainly bloody was! I still remember your first try had you run into a room and kill three men with a fuckin' saucepan! You were pretty good for someone who hadn't really touched PC before."
"Yeah, cheers, I tried. But for me, I liked the games at arcades where you had a gun. Like, Time Crisis and whatever."
"On-rails shooters?"
"Yeah, they were good. I feel more comfortable shootin' things when I'm sat still. Though for you it must be different, considerin' how much you move around durin' a fight."
"That? Figured that'd be basic instincts to fuckin' move all the time."
"Eh. Not much for me. Feels kinda...weird. Better to move when there's nobody left around."
"But then they only have to go to one place, and you're sort of...stuck there."
"And all I have to do is turn and face the enemy. It's really ingenious."
"And all they have to do is shoot you from another angle."
"...fuck, that's a good point."
"Christ's sake, James. Anyway, you really think this 'babysitter' can hold us back?"
"Maybe." James sighed. The two went quiet, looking over the city below in silence as snow fell gently around them in a cold breeze. "Can't be all that bad, though," he said. Jack cast a quizzical glance over.
"How so?"
"Well, think about it. Lady Vert said she'd get Oracle Hakamekaze-"
"Hakozaki."
"-Hakozaki to get an agent ready. Then she said the agent'd be waitin' in Leanbox, right?"
"Right."
"Yeah. So you can probably get some explorin' done in Planeptune." Jack sat up, and looked at James head on.
"Wait, just me? You're not comin' with me?" he asked. "We have to be with each other! We're like the fuckin' Dynamic Duo! Chief and Arbiter! Taser and Cloaker!" James sadly shook his head, looking down slightly.
"Nah, I'm sorry," he sighed, "But Lady Blanc won't let me head to other countries yet. I only got taken to Leanbox so I could meet you, and since Lady Blanc found me in Lowee, I belong in Lowee until I can get official citizenship by doin' side work and gettin' a job." Jack frowned.
"Really? I got a citizenship in Lastation practically right away," he noted, causing James to groan loudly. "Then again, maybe that's because Lady Noire didn't expect me to do all the bloody paperwork in less than a minute."
"How much paperwork?" James asked, rubbing his forehead. In response, Jack raised his arm over his head, then held it over the ground. James exhaled. "You always were a quick writer..."
"Nah," Jack laughed. "I just drew a Lennie face on every page that needed signin'." James started chuckling as well.
"Mature," he snorted, "But I'd've drawn a dick on the page. Like, the whole page," He emphasized his point by gesturing in an A4-sized circle with a hand. "Not one bit'd be left without a bit of a massive cock on it." Jack chuckled to himself for a moment.
"Mine's more subtle," he whistled, reclining slightly and looking back for a moment. He paused, causing James to look at where Jack was looking. "Speakin' of subtle." There, standing half-concealed by the doorway, was Lady Blanc. She had her usual, unreadable expression on her face, and was quietly observing the two from a distance. In spite of her blatantly warm-weather attire, she was standing with the door open and the icy breeze blowing into her face with the small goddess showing nothing in the way of discomfort. There was a moment of silence.
Over rushing winds, Jack was certain he heard one thing before she disappeared back behind the doorframe.
"Stare..."
Two days later...
After Jack had finished bidding Rom and Ram goodbye (which took a bit longer than expected due to their insistence that they would never see him again), he gave James a typical bro-handshake that was so epic that Lady Vert's clothes disappeared whilst Lowee blew up, and got on board the boat that was to take him to Planeptune. His transit was less of a secretive affair now that he had been out in the streets, so Lady Neptune (correction; Miss Histoire) had opted to put Jack on a public ferry to avoid the irritating, time-consuming nature of private travel. Upon arrival in Planeptune (roughly a fourteen hour cruise), Jack would need to make his own way to the basilicom. He had nothing to worry about, though: Apparently it was 'dead obvious' which building it was.
He sighed, lying back with his knees over the end of the bed in the quarters he was assigned by his ticket. There was no chance he'd sleep on it: Too small. However, considering the rather small room's presence of an en-suite bathroom with a complimentary can of shaving foam, he decided he would probably do well by trimming the noticeable beard he had been growing over the previous weeks. Removing his green buttoned shirt, ballistic armour, and bandoliers, Jack stepped inside the small bathroom and crouched down to look in the mirror, setting the tap running. He didn't have a razor. His machete would do. He returned to his satchel, withdrawing the fairly large kukri-machete that had sat, unused, for the longest time, next to his other Skorpion that was still wrapped up in wax paper. He trudged back to the bathroom as the loud horn of the ship outside signalled that the boat would be leaving soon, then sighed.
He was going to hate the next fourteen hours.
Fourteen painfully long hours later...
Once he had managed to retrieve the double-barrel and his beloved Mossberg from the Ship's Captain, he turned heel and began to make his way from the large dock that led up to the beginnings of a glistening city. Tugging his shotgun sling and ignoring the looks of amazement as he casually marched up three steps at a time due to his size, Jack cast a glance over his shoulder and flipped off the completely unaware Captain as she waved off other passengers. "Fuckin' gormless bitch," he muttered, "Not like I was gonna use my fuckin' guns anyway. And why just the shotguns? I had a massive fuck-off pistol strapped to my leg and two machine guns, not even countin' the bloody machete. Stupid twat." Shaking his head, Jack looked forwards again, and managed to stop himself from falling down a massive drop into the streets below. He stared at this in bewilderment, still clutching his shotgun sling as others observed him quietly.
The gap ahead passed straight between buildings, with platforms lining the sides of buildings at the same height as the ledge he was on. However, besides the massive blue rings that were floating between the buildings, he noticed that people were stepping off the ledge and flying. Well, not flying. More...standing on a hexagon, letting that carry them off into the distance. He also noticed that now, a lot of people were looking at him, and there were a few people in the largely female population that were pointing at him and giggling. Jack ignored that for a moment: Cautiously, he extended a foot over the gap, and to his bewilderment, a large, bright cyan hexagon appeared beneath his foot. Pressing his foot on it, it let out a hum, and it felt like he was putting his boot on concrete. He applied pressure.
Perfectly stable. No wobbling or shaking.
Huh.
"The fuck is this shit?" he murmured, narrowing his eyes and tapping on the hexagon a few times. He sighed after a moment, shaking his head. "Fuckin' black magic shite, I tell you what. Right. Here goes nothin'." Then, breathing what he thought to be his last breath, he stepped forward off the ledge, and onto the mysterious hexagon with both feet. A few people behind him clapped in mock congratulatory salute, to which he was tempted to respond with a loud gunshot into the air but decided against it. Instead, Jack let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and looked forwards towards the direction of the basilicom.
It only now struck him that he was, most definitely, out of his element.
A year ago, he never would have expected to be standing on a hologram, flying through a futuristic city towards the home of a god, all whilst armed to the teeth with guns that Britain would have never even let him see, let alone use. He could feel the reassuring weight of the double-barrel slung across his back, and the Mossberg resting in his hands. He barely noticed the weight of a Skorpion on his belt, another in his bag, and a Desert Eagle strapped to his leg. His clothes were a mix of his casual clothing from back home, and the tactical additions of arm and leg guards with bandoliers.
Could he be considered an action hero back on Earth? Slaying monsters, defending the innocent, and stopping crimes?
He chuckled quietly.
"I guess I could be..." he murmured, as he finally reached the stone path leading up to the basilicom. He hopped off the hexagon, nearly losing balance as he did so, and cast a glance back as it disappeared into a small hail of glowing blue light. He looked back towards the massive building (and equally massive walk) in front of him, and began to make his way there. He couldn't help but smile, and shake his head as he began to walk. "Absolutely mad."