Chapter 26 — Epic / Fail
Reader, pause— reflect upon this story!
A story told in broken brains: left, right,
Soul and wit, wrenched once apart by truth,
Truth reborn from the warm womb of justice,
Justice from within two human bodies.
I write to lift up the title the 12th,
I write this to testify our courage,
I write this all under the red moon's light,
And call as witness my own Lunatic;
I am judge, jury, executioner.
I have read it somewhere that Satan fell,
And from his head burst forth Sin, from Sin, Death,
And if the wretches chose an heir on Earth,
Here is the child of hell: Little Caesar.
Harken, listen closely: do you hear the
Braggart, the strong man in the Graceville streets?
Destroyer of harmony and peace, bah!
Delivered into our hands, deep dish woe—
But his crust is thin; you see all he is
In just one surmising glance at his frame:
Greasy hair'd, small headed, eyes hungrily
Commanding a future Legion, baseless
By skill or history's favor, Empire
Of the future, governed by an old brute!
Brutus, strike him down! Cassius, kill him!
With shoulders broad, chiseled and tightly toned,
He is the gladiator and lion,
Little Caesar: it is too late to run!
Fingers in breadsticks, wielding NEXT powers,
Cursed as Cain, hell-lovers extra-large,
Hiding behind your shield, the pizza box—
Stained with blood! Or is that just pizza sauce?
Breath like garlic, words like Beelzebub's!
Remember his hubris: He wanted war!
Look how he stands on the park bench so proud,
The sword of Damocles suspended o'er
His head, adorned in a crazy bread crown.
He grins and addresses the townspeople,
"Graceville, I graciously welcome you in
As part of my unfolding new empire!
Submit to my reign and all will be well,
For I am a merciful lord, trust me."
The citizens, knowing not what to do,
Presumed this to be a show and just shrugged,
And thus enraged the beast in the man.
"Don't you realize I am the cheesiest?
Nations quiver at my gooey vengeance
And kings crumble before my perfect crust.
To serve under me is a true honor—
And to disobey me is disaster."
But they say a prophet is not welcomed
And is not believ'd in his own hometown.
After brushing the dust off his sandals,
He cursed them in word and in deed: "Cheese!"
He said the word, and the word was horror:
A piping hot spray from his fingertips.
This mix of mozzarella and cheddar,
This stream, shot at a group of passersby,
Brought out from the people a cry: justice!
But there we were already, the heroes.
I watched from atop the roof of the bank;
The 12th was hiding in the bushes and
She who was with us in her mask of eyes,
An eye with an eye, was crouching nearby.
Up at the red moon I cast my eyes now,
On my lips prayers toward Thanatos.
"Darkness resign, hatred succumb to peace;
We haven't the time for two guilty men.
Guide my arrow, Thanatos, if you can
Pierce the mind and not the body mortal."
"O Thanatos, have we patience for this?
It has been already five moons, all red,
Since you plagued me on that Valentine's night.
Arrows that pierce'd my heart set me aflame
From the death drive, Thanatos' daemon dive.
Your brother, Hypnos, tried to soothe me so,
But over his lull I still heard your voice.
Nyx, Erebos—what did you have to say?
Nemesis— I think I would like you more
If you were my judge more than I myself.
The justice this world needs is the justice
I give; the justice that I give Caesar
Is not death, lest I then convict myself!"
A cruel smile overtook me; the moment,
With strong wind and ominous overcast,
Was with me, was in the blood in my veins,
Rushing like a chariot to the eyes
Of my mask, which the enemy glanced at.
I lit a bolt and aimed my weapon true,
Calling, "Little Caesar, your time has come.
Reflect carefully upon your actions!
Repent, sinner, and be spared damnation.
You threaten the peace and usurp the law,
And for these crimes and threats from your own mouth,
You testify your own guilt; surrender!"
A great guffaw came from Little Caesar.
He threw his fist in the air and shouted,
"Lunatic, I know of you! The people,
Commoners and simple people, that is,
Put faith in you, but where is your partner?
Did you leave him at home and forget him?
Or is he fighting off a lesser threat,
And has abandoned you to me to slay?"
He did not know what was lying in wait,
How the 12th was in the bushes, ready!
For now I would occupy him fully,
To draw out the perfect moment for him
To be taken down by the 12th's quick strike.
If I could subdue him, even better!
An epic battle lay ahead of us!
Who would call how he dodged my bolt a miss?
His own competency was evidenced,
And his counterattack was impressive.
Little Caesar shot from his fingertips
Another stream of cheese, and I sidestepped.
The dairy blend bent down further away,
Splattering on the roof past my shadow.
I fired another bolt, which by him went,
And descended from my high perch and fears:
My power would work to my advantage,
And a wave of flames followed my landing.
Consider, reader, how it must have felt
As the fire advanced toward Little Caesar.
My eyes at once glanced to see the result.
The blue and green flames rushed at his body,
And he opened his arms to them and laughed!
The fierce fires licked at him for a moment,
But then they subsided, as though beaten.
His arms remained open wide, eyes alight.
The wood bench was on fire, but he was spared.
"I am oven-baked; I burn no longer!
I can stand even your hottest efforts!
All you can do is reheat me, help me,
And ultimately assure your demise!"
In fierce illustration he shot cheddar
And melted a trash can across the path.
"You've only made my cheese even hotter!"
A laugh bubbled up in me, as I thought,
"Your cheese is bold, but your crime has been put
Completely on hold!" Ridiculous, ha!
But keenly was I aware of the plight
That the ineffectiveness of my fire
Might put us in against Little Caesar.
I thought of the bushes—the 12th must act!
If my fire fueled him, our fists would suffice.
"Now," I ordered, drawing myself forward,
"We strike as one: Good Luck Mode, as they say!"
As I drew back my fist, I saw the 12th
Leaning in to kick the destination:
I struck the chest, and he struck Caesar's back.
Just as the Gorgon looks upon new prey,
So Caesar petrified my partner, I,
And our quivering hopes of victory,
For whence injury struck our foe, cheese oozed!
O, I pity Caesar's mortality;
Spiders crawl along his String, and Fates laugh—
He who has profited, gained the whole world,
Yet has forfeited his very own soul.
Bloodless Mina loses humanity
Only on the Count's leisurely schedule,
But alas, poor Caesar, an ambitious
Man, a miserable pile of secrets,
Has a four cheese blend flowing in his veins
Carried through by marinara lifeblood!
The 12th and I, upon our swift recoil,
Scalded by cheese still bubbling on our skin,
Saw the abundant health of Caesar
And exchanged mutual trepidations
Concerning the fall of this Roman god.
"A chasm lies between us, men and god,
Wherefore Lazarus watches the rich man
Writhe in the fire of human suffering,
A canyon clawing deep into abyss,
Where the dim souls of pretenders are lost,"
Spake Little Caesar as he touched his wound,
Scooped up the stringy cheese with his fingers
Brought the cheese-dripping fingers to his lips,
And licked clean the cheese he bled with pleasure.
The 12th gave sign to retreat, and I stepped,
And from his belt, my partner did dispatch
What appeared to be an incendiary
But, after its moment in the air, blew
Only smoke, only a dark cloud chamber
That gathered around Caesar's fooled figure.
No more than time the bluff afforded us,
But time is a white flag in such moments—
Notwithstanding what would happen after,
There would be armistice for a moment.
Spake the 12th, "What wicked something this is!
Hanging is the fruit telling us to kill,
But the tempting fruit will not sustain us."
Yet how could we subdue such a creature
Without annihilating it wholly?
True, the temptation remained to kill it,
But there might be enough man in it yet
To warrant preservation of its life.
Fie, the 12th's code echoed mine succinctly!
"But this foul Caesar will not surrender
Like a normal villain— what means remain?"
The smoke cleared, and Caesar emerged angry,
And while we produced no new strategy,
He bolstered up a fiery offensive.
From within, he procured an arsenal
Of hard and spicy pepperoni discs,
Which he let fly after our very own souls.
The meat heat-sought our quivering bodies,
And when we dodged the burnt spinning discs,
Like meaty boomerangs they returned
For yet another quick swipe at our throats.
Our lowered heads avoided Pearly Gates,
But our enemy saw in this a bow,
An obsequious sign of surrender
To our new and ultimate liege and lord.
He who neither burns nor bleeds laughed at us,
He who comes, who sees, who conquers cities,
The wretch who, lo! suddenly looks aghast!
When he falls to his knees, a figure shows
Behind him—Mercy! In her gloved hands is
Dry ice, a whole block of the stuff, smoking!
"A girl has gotta be prepared," spake she.
"But how did you know?" I stammered and asked.
"Because nobody likes cold pizza, right?"
She answered. "Except, well, people who do."
Caesar, writhing, cried out, "Pizza, pizza!"
And Mercy, gesturing to another
Hiding within the bushes so sneaky,
Planted the seal over Caesar's defeat:
A woman in bright blue and green jumped out
And dumped on the fiend twenty pounds of ice.
A low moan escaped the pile of ice cubes,
And when the authorities arrived soon,
He still slept, dreaming not of victory
But of defeat: ice and Anemone.
The next day, Yomotsu was stocking shelves with Meilag. They were filling cans of green beans when Meilag, slicing across the plastic cover over a case of vegetables, said, "You smell like pizza."
Yomotsu chuckled. "I had something of a wild night," he answered.
Meilag shrugged. "As did I. I was wrestling inside the dark trenches of my soul, wrestling with something... Loud."
Yomotsu raised an eyebrow. He faced the green beans so that they looked beautiful, like a baby's bottom. They were halfway done with their shift, and already Meilag had said more words to him than he probably had his entire employment at Yum Yums all put together. It was a curiosity to Yomotsu, but he decided not to bring it up.
"You're the 12th, correct?"
Gently picking up a can of yams, Yomotsu let the question sink in. He felt coldness color his face and limbs, and his hair stood a bit on end. He could hear his heartbeat. He lowered his head and then, once composed, smiled toward his coworker and went, "Wh-what was that? Hm? The 12th? Oh, no, no, I am not so wonderful as the hero of justice!"
He heard Meilag rise to grab another case from the cart. When Meilag dropped down again to fill the bottom shelf with peas, he let the silence continue. Yomotsu expected a sinister laugh to escape his lips, as often was the case with his coworker, but instead, Meilag said quietly after a few moments of filling the shelf, "Never mind why you do it—Much as I disagree with your motivations, they are easy to understand—but how do you do it? How can you be so open to the possibility of death at the hands?"
Yomotsu did not speak, afraid he would confirm Meilag's words. He somehow knew, however, that continuing to outright deny his identity as the 12th would not work well.
"…How do you see yourself greeting death?" Meilag continued, when they were further down the aisle. "I don't mean the specific circumstances, whether a calm or violent death, but your attitude towards it. When you imagine your death, however it happens, what do you imagine your last emotion would be? Would you actually greet Death with a smile on your face? I just… I want to hear opinions on it. What you go through when you die is very personal and you don't have to answer if you don't want to. It's just that… other perspectives may help me sort out some things."
Yomotsu took a deep breath. "Well." He stood up straight. "I do not really concern myself much with my mortality. Righteousness always triumphs, and I believe my death, whenever it shall come, will be necessary for justice."
Meilag struggled with his response. "How could you… How could you and I'm assuming Yuri, just… Just accept it? It's… It's just… I don't have words to convey what I think. Foolish comes to mind, but… It's not tough, or not fully right. It's just… But it's… how can…?" He made some sort of grumbly noise and cut open a new case of product. "I don't understand. I truly don't understand it. I try and see it from your view or analyze with you in mind, but it's just always blank. I don't even understand a hint of your side of it. This has always been one of the most confounding conundrums I've come across and I have yet to get to step 1 to finish it."
"It is not as though I wish to hasten my death, but—"
"I'm not saying you people want to die. I'm just saying that each of you seems to be somewhat OK with it if it happens."
"There will be a place prepared for the righteous, whose souls even death cannot conquer."
"But how do you know that anything comes later? Have you seen it? Any credible evidence? I've never understood how your kind embraces fairy tales as concrete truth… What would happen if someone discovered that there is no afterlife? Would that change the way you think of it?"
"I would still live on through the memories and stories of my great deeds, and my legacy would continue to inspire!"
Meilag scoffed, but he offered no reply. They continued to fill the shelves in relative silence for the next hour. They only spoke about work concerns, and even then, it was limited to a few words at a time. It was not until they were stocking Hamburger Helper that Meilag suddenly resumed the conversation.
"I have plenty of experience with death and dying," he explained quietly enough so customers could not overhear as they passed by. "Far more than a normal person my age should have." He must have leaned closer to Yomotsu; Meilag's voice was louder in his ears. "You want to know the exact second a person dies? Look into their eyes as they die. You'll always see it. They're looking up at you, and then they just look through you, staring but not seeing. It's like the black in their eyes just swallowed them up."
Yomotsu swallowed the saliva in his mouth. Meilag placed a hand on his shoulder and continued with fervor, "Death is the worst possible thing that can happen to you. There is nothing worse than death. To be okay with it is to accept defeat. And the idea that all humans will die isn't necessarily true anymore. Within 30 years, perhaps we'll be able to reverse aging by 30-45 years… Do you realize stopping aging itself isn't an impossibility? And other avenues like uploading oneself into a computer aren't fiction either. There are real scientists and institutes spending millions and millions making these things into reality. All that's needed is time. And then I'd be able to escape that inevitability that has wrought destruction on everyone else. What would your God say to that?"
Yomotsu shrugged. "I thought you didn't believe in the supernatural."
Meilag chuckled. "Oh, I believe in the supernatural. There are wicked forces out there, Hiro. How did Kira manage to kill as he did without the supernatural? And frankly, I'd love to find out that God exists. That would mean… a chance for me to do something important. Something I can't do now."
They finished their work for the day. Not only was this the day Meilag spoke the more than ever before, this was also the day in which Yomotsu was the most silent. He had a lot to digest. When they clocked out, they were the only two in the room, and Meilag felt it proper to leave more matters for Yomotsu to ponder.
"I understand that people think better of death than I do," Meilag said. "But I doubt I'll understand why. I merely asked this of people because it was recently the anniversary of the day that I killed the only person whose death I wanted to avoid. Strange, isn't it? Me talking about caring for a person. And the parting words that he left me are that puzzle I find troubling. Even as he lay there dying, he still wanted to help me. I doubt I'll figure it out until I'm about to die myself. Perhaps that's the final perspective I need."
Yomotsu turned. He was going to just walk off and go home and think, then, about what happened. However, he thought better of it and, over his shoulder, said, "Meilag… If you ever want company outside of your work here, Yuri and I are available on our days off."
Meilag chuckled. "Thank you, Yomotsu," he said. "But if I wanted a taste of the hero life, I would rather become a hero myself and see how it tastes. I'm not interested in your charity… If you see me as someone who needs saving, let me save myself. If I fail, then I will have my chance to finally learn what it means to accept that which still is a mystery to me. If I succeed, it will by my own efforts. It is not as though I haven't survived far worse."
Yomotsu accepted this answer and left the store for the day. When he got home, he ate a lot of ice cream and watched anime with Mercy. When his Justice Diary updated and he heard from his own future recording that there was a robbery needing to be thwarted, death and the idea of failure were now vividly on his mind.