Chapter 15 — Smelled Like the Holidays / This Is Halloween

It was the smell of freshly baked gingerbread cookies. Then there was a waft of cinnamon, possibly of sticky bun origin but more like the homely scent of apple cider. These were all such nice smells, but they were wrong. They were evil. They smelled like the holidays. This was late October, not the time for these olfactory pleasantries. They were sown by discord and put to the most diabolical of means.

"Your foul deeds will never triumph!" The 12th exclaimed. He charged forward and released from his Transformation Belt a long cord. He quickly made from it an efficient lasso and spun it above his head. The Perfu-Menace, master of scents and sordid schemes, was not amused.

Their enemy wore a large yellow suit that looked like it had been designed by Tetsuya Nomura. There were belts everywhere, and attached to the belts was an array of perfume bottles of different sizes, shapes, and colors, all held on by Velcro. At any point, the Perfu-Menace would spray a certain scent into the air, depending on the situation, and thus could subdue the local police that had been pursuing him. Covering his head was a yellow helmet a large ear on each side.

"Scent of—RAZOR BLADES!"

The Perfu-Menace contorted himself so he could spray from his back the concentrated smell of sharp razor blades. This mixture created a grey mist that enveloped the Perfu-Menace, and when the lasso was sent flying toward him, the mist shredded the cord to pieces. The fiend laughed as he admired the results.

The 12th shook his fist. "Play your dirty tricks now, because you won't be able to smell anything soon other than the scent of a jail cell!"

Putting his hands on his hips, the enemy chuckled. "I know better than to fear your shallow threats!" He threw up jazz hands. "Once this whole show is over with, I'll just escape from prison, like all the others. Or, in good time, they will let me out when the prisons here overfill… Out on 'good behavior' and the like, and they will think I'm reformed, just like everyone else. So even if you somehow do stop me this time, it will only delay me. I will have my day yet!"

Lunatic had been observing this all from the building above. His cloak gently swayed with the chill wind. What kept him warm was his inner fire, this burning desire to apprehend this pathetic criminal. It was really quite, sad, too; why would someone abandon his normal life, to take on a persona such as this? The efforts were always bound to end in failure, and even if they succeeded, did they not realize that one villain rising to power over the city would just convince the others to fight him or her instead of the heroes? Power was fleeting and temporary, especially power taken by force.

The desire within was made manifest, as Lunatic's body began to give off a light blue glow. His crossbow charged, and an arrow of fire was aimed. "Perfu-Menace!" Lunatic called out. The petty criminal looked up. "The time of your reckoning has come. Your wickedness and sin has led you to destruction."

A strong gust of wind suddenly blew away Lunatic's cloak, and at that moment, a shot of blue flame raced toward the Perfu-Menace. The latter, however, was prepared. The Perfu-Menace shot forth from a bottle on his wrist another perfume.

"Scent of—WINTER CHILL!"

A blue cloud of perfume surrounded the Perfu-Menace, and the flames were unable to touch him. While the criminal was able to gloat at his success, Lunatic observed the 12th rush in to assail upon his enemy a flurry of punches and kicks. Then, a peculiar sight happened to catch Lunatic's eye. They had been brawling in a parking lot, and although it was mostly, a few cars had been parked there overnight. Crouching under the cover of a blue SUV was someone mimicking the actions of the 12th. As the brawl between him and the Perfu-Menace continued, with each punch he threw, so would this figure. With every blow inflicted upon the 12th, the observer would show concern and distress.

Lunatic could not believe it. The 12th had a cheerleader. He might have suspected that this watcher was going to try to ambush his friend, but he took particular notice of the figure's clothes. They were just like the 12th's. Indeed, he could make out black tights, black gloves, and a utility belt that looked like a fantastic replica of his partner's. The mask, however, was of a different design, implying that this person did not intend to masquerade as the 12th himself but one in his likeness. The mask of the observer was red, with a pattern of white eyes all over it. It would have been very eerie, if the eyes did not all look like anime girl eyes. Then again, that almost made it even creepier.

Suddenly, the Perfu-Menace succeeded in catching the 12th off-guard, and he landed a kick smartly to the righteous hero's big head. The 12th fell, and his fan looked ready to either scream or jump right in to save him. Instead, Yuri seized the opportunity. He leapt from the building and came crashing down upon the Perfu-Menace, his foot crashing into the fiend's helmet. It cracked, shattered, and fell to the ground.

The identity of the Perfu-Menace was thus revealed to be that of a middle-aged man, wearing spectacles. This man could very well have young grandchildren. It saddened even Lunatic, to think about what must have brought this man to this point, where in the night he fought the people's heroes.

The Perfu-Menace recovered from the blow only partially, for in his rashness to retaliate, he released a particular perfume.

"Scent of—APPLE BLOSSOM AND FAINTING!"

The perfume hovered about his body, while Lunatic observed from afar. The mist did not travel far into the air before the Perfu-Menace, now devoid of his protection from his own scents, collapsed in the parking lot. Lunatic made sure the enemy was surely out, before checking his friend's condition.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" The 12th responded, rubbing his head through the mask. "A hero of justice must never be discouraged by cheap shots!"

Yuri looked over to the blue SUV. He saw feet shuffle beneath the vehicle, and then the observer fled into the night.

"But are you alright?" The 12th asked.

Lunatic answered that everything was just fine. He did not need to know. Not yet. Not until more information was gathered.

"Training, on Halloween?"

Craig nodded his head. "It was the first day we could get his schedule to match up with yours, but it won't be the last. Nope. I've got you working with him the rest of the week."

Halloween was a special time at Yum Yums. It was the unofficial beginning of the busiest time of the year for the local grocery store, the precursor to the holidays. They would begin having open houses and bigger sale ads than the months prior, and training in new shelf stockers was a necessity. Rocco, who had originally volunteered to help more with open houses the first week of November, suddenly fell ill and said he would probably not be able to work again until "sometime after Gamedays." Not sure what this meant, Craig and the team wished him nothing but the speediest of recoveries, knowing how much this man loved his job and would miss work terribly.

But aside from serving as the kickoff for the new holiday season, Halloween also was a special day for Yum Yums employees. Every worker was allowed to dress up as he or she pleased, with few restrictions, and nearly everyone participated. Gladys put on a witch's costume, Yuri was wearing judicial robes, Imani could be found in a ghostly hijab and beautiful orange silk dress, and the rest of the crew was composed of skeletons, goblins, zombies, and even a potato. Luke and Mercy had taken the day off. Yomotsu wore the clothing of the 12th, which earned him many a hi-five. "Wow, nice costume!" Jade said. "Looks so real," murmured Ben, in awe. Yomotsu would proudly respond, "I made it myself!" Craig had chosen a very simple approach: he wore the same style of clothing as usual, a casual dress shirt with a loose collar unbuttoned toward the top, but this time he wore a black mullet wig to cover up his receding hair line and bald spot.

After listening to the explanation, Yomotsu nodded his giant eyeball head. He then turned toward the office window, as though glancing out where his trainee was standing. The trainee was Meilag Spooky: age 24, a transfer from another store out of town, where he was part of their nighttime stockers. Although he could not see him with his own eyes, judging off the remarks of a few other employees, Meilag was wearing a very convincing Death costume with a skull mask that looked just like the real thing.

"Anything I need to know, before we begin?" Yomotsu asked, strapping a walkie talkie to his Transformation Belt.

"Well," Craig said, leaning back in his chair, presumably running his fingers through the wig, "The chap pretty much knows what he's doing. Says he's spent some time memorizing the store's layout, so he probably knows the aisles better than some of our veteran stockers. He just needs some shadowing, so I say just consider working with him as an equal, while keeping in mind that you can jump in with pointers now and then. But really, this is just for the log book… He needs training hours more than he needs training, if you catch my drift, sport."

Yomotsu gave him a thumbs-up. "Understood."

Craig slapped him on the shoulder. "Adda boy!" He opened the door, and Yomotsu promptly smiled from within the mask, and turned to face the new new employee. "Meilag, this here is Hiro of Rai Chestnuts. He's one of our best stockers—one of our finest overall workers. He's gonna work with you today and help in your transition to being part of the Yum Yums team. I'll be headin' out early, so if you need anything… well, I think Gladys is in for the rest of tonight."

They both nodded and then faced each other again. The door to Craig's office closed. Yomotsu extended his gloved hand. "Nice to meet you," he said.

Meilag could be heard chuckling. "Your name is Hiro? Heh." He seized his trainer's hand. Meilag's fingers were cold, hard bone. "I hate heroes." He squeezed the hand tightly, enough to cause Yomotsu's hand to squirm out of the grasp rather quickly. "I've learned the hard way that the only person you can rely on is yourself."

Flexing his hurting hand and moving his fingers to check and see if he still could, Yomotsu responded with a touch of humor, "That's an interesting thing to say to someone dressed up as the mighty 12th."

"I wish I could say it to the real 12th, rather than some ridiculous imposter! I wish I could whisper those words to him before ending his little charade as a vigilante," Meilag mused aloud. "In the end, everyone else is just a threat to your happiness. Those who ask others for protection deserve whatever onslaught they receive, their protectors along with them, and I would be happy to be the one to give them what they have earned."

Yomotsu nervously laughed. "Yeah, definitely! Hahahahahaaaaa."

Meilag walked over to the window, to stare into the room from where moments ago Yomotsu had observed him. From Craig's perspective, he just would have seen Death silently glaring at him. "I do not know how you can tolerate being addressed so diminutively by Craig… Does he always give everyone pet names?"

Yomotsu shrugged. "I guess so."

Meilag hmph'd and turned back around. "But, I digress. Hiro. Let's get to work, shall we? I'll have you know that if you intend on being nice to me, it won't get you anywhere. I don't like being social. If I'm social, it's just an act to get something from that person. And I have little use for you, right now. I would much rather advance here by my own skill and devices. Putting on a fake cheery disposition is something I have to do out of necessity, but it is one of my lesser tactics. Being nice doesn't get you anywhere in the world. You have to be harsh to survive."

Yomotsu enthusiastically nodded his head. "Sure!"

He turned and led Meilag, without further word, to the backroom. There he gave him a brief tour, more or less just a recap of what Meilag already knew. For the most part, his trainee remained silent. Yomotsu felt that he was being watched very attentively, in what must have been a scrutinizing manner. Meilag had a habit of having his hands behind his back and, when Yomotsu would go on for an especially long time about a certain point, would begin to loudly tap his foot. At one point, Yomotsu apologized for talking so much.

Meilag's foot stopped. "I get the feeling you worry about offending people. You shouldn't have to worry about that with me. Well… Maybe it would offend me if you tried to be sensitive to my 'feelings' instead of speaking your mind. I find that insulting more than most habits common people exhibit. You do not need to sugarcoat it for me, Hiro. You don't have to make it sound all pretty. I am Death, after all."

The employee lurched forward and said, in a half-whisper, "We work in a corny grocery store, for mediocre pay, precisely because we are either too unskilled or too lazy to go elsewhere. That's how it is for the majority of us, but I have different reasons. So I don't expect anyone here to genuinely care about his work. Because everyone knows it's all a façade, to mask the real reason we are here. Today we are wearing masks, but this is a reality I live with every day. And those of us so used to playing that game know when someone else is doing it. Take off your mask, or I will have to extract the secrets of your mind with you screaming."

Meilag continued to lurch over Yomtosu, dressed as the 12th, who nervously looked toward the watch he was wearing over his Transformation Glove. "Oh. Well. Would you look at the time. GUESS WE GOTTA GO FILL STUFF BEFORE WE RUN OUT OF STUFF ON THE SHELF, HUH?"

When he turned to start loading ketchup onto a cart, Meilag laughed. The laugh started out low and then, in a sudden shift, span into an out of control hyena's laugh. He then joined Yomotsu in the effort, and the latter just tried to clear his mind of what he had all heard from Meilag so far. He just kept trying to focus on the work. This was just another trainee. This was just another day at work. He owed it to the customers not to freak out. They needed their ketchup. And more so, he needed to get out of the backroom. He needed to not be left alone with Meilag for too much longer.

Death and the 12th attacked the aisles. "This is Halloween" and "The Monster Mash" played over the sound system, among other songs. Yomotsu worked hard, for it was therapeutic for him to put his all into stocking the shelves. Whatever compelled Meilag, however, was a mystery. The "trainee" was more than simply holding his own, however. It was clear to Yomotsu that the young man was quite experienced, and albeit a bit creepy, he would make a fine asset to the Yum Yums team.

When they were done with their shift, Yomotsu approached him enthusiastically. "Great job today, Meilag!" He raised his hand for a hi-five. The hand was left hanging.

"I know," Meilag answered. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't fight every day to rise above the uninspired, corpse-like masses. I have no choice but to be better."

Yomotsu crossed his arms. The 12th's big head was aimed contemplatively down, towards the floor. "Perhaps you should spread your determination with my friend, Yuri," he said, quietly. He almost immediately regretted saying it, but he knew these words were true from his heart. "He hasn't been doing so well here."

"Ahh, Yuri," Meilag repeated, thoughtfully. "He was the judge, cashiering? I have heard about him."

"He's…" Yomotsu responded briefly, but thoughtfully, "He's in essence a good person."

Meilag gave another wretched laugh. "Then I doubt I'd like him."

Yomtosu pulled on the ropes around neck, to loosen them a little. He then scratched at his neck. "Happy Halloween, Meilag. It was very nice meeting you."

Meilag gave no response. Maybe, he smiled. Perhaps he frowned. But whatever Meilag's nonverbal response was to Yomotsu, it would remain a mystery. They punched out, in the same quiet manner they had eaten at break together today. They passed through the exit doors together.

"Hiro."

Yomotsu turned his giant eyeball head toward Meilag.

"I think I'm going to like this store."

Yomotsu nodded. He then went to his motorcycle. He drove home on the Righteous Tsunami.