Is this a good idea? Probably not. Then again, I don't often make good decisions.
Neither does the protagonist of this story, as you're about to see.
(Two Weeks Before Transfer)
If you asked Jasper Finch or any of the six-ish people who cared about him directly, they'd tell you he wasn't a bad man. Just a little… misguided. That's all.
Misguided enough that he'd been thrown in prison, granted; but that was the heroin's fault, not his. It rewrote enough neurons in his little primate brain to convince him that sticking up the local grocery with his brother's stolen gun was a good idea. It made perfect sense at the time. He was getting jittery from withdrawal and needed the money.
That was three years ago, or maybe it was closer to four? It didn't really matter. Days, weeks, months; they all seemed to blend together at Hixenbaugh Penitentiary.
It didn't help that the prison was over capacity, stretching its already limited state-given resources even thinner. He couldn't pass his free time reading or playing basketball in the yard because, well, there weren't enough books or basketballs to go around. There wasn't enough of anything to go around. He spent most of each day bored out of his skull, and a bored Jasper was a dangerous Jasper.
Or at least that's what his older brother seemed to believe, and three (four?) years ago, he might've been right. Nowadays, he didn't think Mark gave him enough credit.
"You'd better not cause trouble for the guards once you've arrived, you hear?"
Point proven.
Jasper swallowed the urge to groan. He appreciated it when Mark found time in his busy schedule to visit, he really did - he was the only thing that broke the monotony around here - but for fuck's sake, this was to be their last face-to-face meeting before the transfer next month. Would it have killed him to say something nice?
"What if I catch them circle jerking each other?" Jasper snarked. A 'disappointed older brother' glare from Mark made him wince. "Dude, I'm kidding! Geez, lighten up a little…"
He thought he heard the guard monitoring them chuckle under his breath.
The brothers were separated by a plexiglass window in the visitors' lobby, each with a phone in hand and surrounded by the muted drone of a dozen other conversations between inmates and their loved ones. Today's visit wasn't shaping up to be much different from the others: It began as it always did, with Mark asking Jasper how he was doing and what he'd been up to. Jasper would fill him in, and Mark was once again relieved his idiot sibling hadn't done anything to extend his sentence. It was all routine by now.
Mark sighed and changed the subject. "Anyway, about the transfer. That'll be a couple of weeks from now, right? What's the place called again?"
"Elm Ridge Correctional Facility. Newer place up in Colorado. 'Fraid I don't know much more than that." Jasper shrugged. Not like he really cared to know more. "This might sound weird, but I'm actually kinda looking forward to it. More time outside my cell! And no more sharing the same toilet with three other guys! Seriously man, overcrowding fucking sucks."
Mark's expression turned contemplative. "Colorado, huh? That'll make it a lot harder to see you…"
Jasper knew that. He knew it the moment he found out he was to be moved from Hixenbaugh.
Why the hell was he even complaining? Any rational inmate would've leapt at the chance to serve the remainder of their sentence at a prison that could afford more than the basic necessities. And it wasn't like Mark was visiting as much as he used to anyway, with the new job and the move and everything.
"Do you know if Elm Ridge offers any type of educational programs?" Mark asked. "If they do, I think you should look into them."
The younger man blinked. What the fuck? Where was this coming from?
"I'm… not sure," he answered slowly. "Why, what's up?"
"Having a higher education will make it easier for you to find a good job when your sentence is up," Mark explained. "And having a good job means you're less likely to become a repeat offender. This should be obvious, Jasper. You can't spend the rest of your life behind bars."
"What if I-"
"Don't you dare joke about murdering someone," Mark snapped, "especially after you pointed my gun at an innocent person."
Jasper flinched like he'd been shanked; the reminder of the reason for his incarceration cut deep enough that it certainly felt like it. There was little he could say to defend himself and his older brother was damn well aware of it.
He even heard the guard behind him utter a quiet sound of amusement. Dickhead probably got off watching one of his prisoners get chewed out.
Mark took a moment to clear his throat. "Anyway. As I was saying, if there are educational courses available, I think you should sign up for some."
"Why should I?" Jasper scoffed. "They'll probably be the same bullshit elective courses from high school. I don't need to know chemistry to apply as a fucking truck driver." The fact that he had a suspended license went unsaid. "Besides, it'll be a few more years until I'm eligible for parole. Still a bit early to be worrying about employment."
"So what's your plan when you do get out?"
"Move in with you, duh. I don't mind sleeping on the couch."
Mark would have his back; he always did. He'd been bailing Jasper's sorry ass out of trouble since they were kids, shielding him from the wrath of redneck trailer trash and fussy soccer moms and anyone else who took issue with his God-given right to have fun. When they were teenagers, Mark would pick him up from the police station whenever the cops caught him with his pants down – oftentimes literally.
And it was thanks to Mark's testimony that he was serving only fifteen years. He'd convinced the jury his idiot brother wasn't dangerous – just a little, y'know, misguided. Jasper would remember to pay his brother back for that one day.
Life would go back to normal a few years down the line. He'd play by the rules for once, secure himself an early release, then crash at Mark's house where they'd live happily ever after smoking the devil's grass and mooning passing trains. Besides having to wear an ankle bracelet, nothing would change.
Showing his face at the grocery store would be kinda awkward, although the manager didn't appear to-
"No."
Wait, what?
Jasper lowered the phone and cleaned his ear with his pinky, paying no mind to Mark's displeased look. "Say again?"
"I'm not letting you move in with me. Not after this."
…Huh?
Jasper's mouth suddenly went dry. Mark was… turning him away? What was he saying?! Was he being serious? He sounded serious.
No, he couldn't be. Mark was- He was family! They were supposed to watch out for each other, through thick and thin, good times and bad!
"I tried my hardest to raise you right. Christ knows I really did. But look where we are now…" Mark took a deep, shuddering breath. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is watching my own brother get arrested over and over? I sacrificed my whole fucking youth cleaning up your messes, and this is how you repay me? Heroin? Armed fucking robbery?!"
The metaphorical shank was still embedded in Jasper's chest, and every word twisted it deeper. He hadn't felt this nauseous since rehab.
Mark was right; he'd screwed up, badly. But that was in the past, wasn't it? He'd kicked his addiction and vowed not to make the same mistake again.
That had to count for something… didn't it?
"I tried, dammit. I tried, and I failed."
He saw Mark wipe his face with his sleeve. The older man's eyes were redder, full of shame and regret. There was a long, potent silence before he continued.
"You like sick jokes, don't you? Want to hear something really fucked up? Life's been great without you. I paid off the loan on my car and bought my first house. I don't get a call from the station at two in the morning every week. I can finally do the things I've always wanted… and I love it."
He said that while Jasper's own world was crashing down like the fucking Hindenburg.
The younger brother eventually found his tongue. "I'm happy for you, man."
"...Thanks." Another long silence. "Jasper, you need to listen to me. I've been working my goddamn ass off making up for all the years I spent dealing with your bullshit. I'm finally living my own life, and I'm not letting you ruin it."
Jasper shivered in his seat – partially from Mark's icy tone, partially from the equally ice-cold reality washing over him. It was as bad as- No, it was worse than the heroin. Back then he'd been endangering his own life, throwing everything away just to get his next fix; and yet Mark still galloped to his rescue at the county courthouse despite having every reason under the sun not to.
He didn't think anything could break their bond after that day. Apparently he didn't know his own flesh and blood as well as he thought.
"You're taking this a lot better than I expected," Mark noted, letting his posture slacken. "I've been tossing and turning at night worrying how you'd react."
Quite the contrary; he wasn't taking it well at all. Honestly, the only reason he wasn't freaking the fuck out was because he didn't envision raving like a lunatic in front of the prison staff ending well. All those hard-earned brownie points he'd accumulated would've gone down the shitter.
Mark sighed again. "This hurts me too, you know. Believe me. You're my brother, and I love you, but I can't be your personal get-out-of-jail card. You need to learn to stand on your own two feet."
Jasper swallowed the lump in his throat and asked the obvious question. "Where will I live?"
Mark appeared conflicted, as though he wanted to provide the golden answer but was purposefully restraining himself. "You'll have to figure that out. Starting now, you're on your own. Goodbye, Jasper."
He hung up.
(One Week Before Transfer)
Ah, kitchen prep duty. A luxury granted only to prisoners who wouldn't go full Michael Myers when given a knife. A rare, highly sought-after opportunity to do something genuinely productive. Cooking at Hixenbaugh was an all-day affair, especially since there were more mouths to feed than the prison was built to handle; paradoxically, the long hours were often seen as the best part of the job. Anything was better than boredom.
Jasper agreed with that viewpoint. However, he liked volunteering for prep work for a different, admittedly selfish reason: It gave him a way to air his grievances aloud and the other inmates there would be forced to listen. It was a dickish thing to do, true, although he'd long ago given up trying to schedule an appointment with the eternally overbooked prison psychologists.
"...And that concludes how I'll build my post-release career as the world's greatest hobo. When society collapses and people are forced to scrounge for basic necessities, I'll be the one they flock to for wisdom."
Speaking of basic necessities, he needed a better knife if he wanted to cut these potatoes. Or he could nuke them in the microwave to soften them up. Yeah, he'd do that instead. It'd save him the hassle of stepping outside the kitchen's wire cage and haggling with the guards.
As he set the timer, he quietly grumbled, "Wouldn't it be hella ironic if Mark came crawling to me for a change…"
One of the other inmates, a dark-skinned man named Andrews, glanced up from his cutting board. "Bro, it's been a week already. I ain't tellin' you to shut up, but… c'mon."
"Normally I'd say your brother made the right call," Big Martin chimed in. Jasper still wasn't sure if Martin was his first or last name. "You took advantage of him your whole life. Hell, I'm surprised he didn't throw you out sooner."
Jasper raised a tattooed eyebrow. "You said 'normally'."
The heavyset man nodded as he stirred the stew broth. "I get why he's upset – I would be too, if I had a dumbass like you for a brother – but cutting you off entirely won't fix the underlying issue."
"Which is…?"
"You're scared to take responsibility," Big Martin finished.
That struck a nerve. "You calling me irresponsible?" Jasper hissed. "You're a fucking psychologist now, is that it? You think you know me?" The rational side of his mind begged him to shut his trap, arguing that starting shit with Martin was guaranteed to end with a trip to the infirmary. He didn't care at the moment. "Listen fatass, I may be a petty criminal and a disappointment, but I never blamed others for my own failures!"
"Oh, shit…" Andrews breathed.
The chit-chat around the kitchen suddenly quieted down. The pot of stew bubbled, and the microwave hummed behind him, but there was no other sound.
Jasper noticed the other inmates paying close attention. The reason was obvious: Big Martin, while generally easygoing, didn't earn the nickname Big Martin by skipping leg day. They were expecting him to snap and flatten the whiny bastard on potato duty into a pancake. In his peripherals Jasper saw the guards monitoring the kitchen tense up, though they didn't yet intervene.
Fortunately for his skeletal structure, Big Martin didn't appear offended; if anything, the giant man looked mildly impressed with him.
"Perhaps I worded that wrong," he mused aloud as he went back to work on the stew. "My apologies. What I meant to say was-"
Beep! Beep! Beep!
"Hold that thought." Jasper grabbed the potatoes from the microwave and dumped them on the cutting board. "Okay, continue."
Big Martin sighed. "I'll cut to the chase: Finch, you're a manchild who refuses to grow up. Your problem, from what I've gathered, is that you lack ambition to be anything more than a jailbird with a sense of humor."
"Meh, I dunno about that. I prefer to think of myself as a free spirit."
Their fun denied, the inmates watching them returned to their duties. Jasper figured he should join in before the potatoes cooled, and was pleased when his knife cut through them like butter.
"Yeah, a free spirit who relies entirely on his bro," Andrews interjected.
And of course Andrews had to sucker punch him in the pride.
There was no point rebutting them, either. Mark was always the man of the house; he had to be, with their dad absent and their mom constantly in and out of rehab. Mark cooked, cleaned, did the laundry, and fixed any broken appliances. He took any odd jobs that paid, no matter how tedious or back-breaking. Sometimes he didn't get home until after midnight on school nights.
Marcus Finch never stopped pushing ahead for both their sakes, doing anything and everything he could to keep the pair of them afloat. He hadn't exaggerated when he said he'd worked his ass off. He couldn't afford not to.
I tried, dammit. I tried, and I failed.
Jasper couldn't stomach the guilt any longer.
"I really fucked up, huh?" The words were regurgitated before he could swallow them back down. He kept talking, brushing the finished potatoes aside with the flat of his knife. "Mark was always busy as hell, and all I did was weigh him down. I should've… I should've helped out. I shouldn't have made him do it all alone…"
Andrews wasn't done crushing his self-esteem though. "But you did help, Finch. You got your ass sent to prison and now he don't hafta babysit you no more. Everything worked out in the end, right?"
Jasper cracked a tiny smile for the first time in a week as he pried open some canned baby carrots. Despite the dig, something about what Andrews said amused him.
The dark-skinned prisoner wasn't technically wrong: After more than two decades of hard labor and dogged persistence, along with his leech of a brother taken out of the picture, Mark was finally living the American dream. The criminal was punished and justice prevailed. Hoo-fucking-ray.
He turned to the kitchen's voice of reason for advice. "Martin, what would you do if you were me?"
The huge man didn't hesitate. "Kill myself."
"I'm being serious!"
"So am I." Big Martin deadpanned, and Jasper had half a mind to punch him, broken bones be damned. The voice of reason didn't have to be so snarky. "Though if you want an alternative, I'd recommend not complaining like a pussy-ass bitch and asking your brother directly how to make it up to him. Offer to pay rent. Get a job instead of a high."
He raised a spoonful of stew and gave it a quick sniff, nodding in satisfaction. "You need to get your shit together, Finch. It might not be a quick process – and knowing you, it definitely won't be easy – but it's the best way to start making things right."
Words of wisdom befitting, like, a guru or something. Jasper tossed him a slice of carrot as thanks. "Y'know Martin, sometimes I forget why you're serving time. You're too smart to be in this shithole."
"I'm here because I beat my now ex-wife's secret boytoy within an inch of his life." He popped the carrot slice in his mouth and chewed.
"Oh, right. Heh."
Big Martin didn't seem to have anything more to say, so Jasper let him be and went back to helping prepare lunch. Andrews looked between the two men, blinking in confusion.
"So… does this mean Finch ain't gonna be the Hobo King?"
(Day of the Transfer)
Cue the drum roll: The big day had arrived.
Jasper spent the whole night tossing and turning like a ragdoll, too excited (or nervous) to sleep. One of his cellmates taking a late-night dump mistakenly thought he was having a seizure with how much he was moving around. Who could blame him for being restless, though? By midday today he'd be leaving Hixenbaugh for greener pastures. He'd have his own cell with his own toilet and everything.
He expected there to be more fanfare, honestly. Like, maybe his cellmates would surprise him by whipping out a cake with "HAPPY TRANSFER DAY" written on it, complete with party streamers and booze. They'd share one last meal and some spirits together before their numbers were reduced from four to three. That would've been nice.
Nope. They were all lounging in their bunk beds, quiet as mice. Like, really guys? Three-plus years crammed in a cell together and not even a goodbye? Jasper was glad he'd left such a positive impression on them.
So he joined in on what they deemed 'suitable festivities', meaning he lazed around on the top bunk with his arm and leg dangling off the edge, doing his best imitation of a sloth. He stayed that way for about an hour before his ears picked up the familiar thump-thump-thump of heavy boots approaching.
One of the newer, younger guards assigned to B Block stopped outside the cell. "Jasper Finch?"
"Yo." Jasper hopped down and walked over to the metal gate separating them. He didn't bother asking why he was singled out specifically. It would've been a waste of breath.
The guard unclipped a pair of handcuffs from his belt. "Hands outside the slot."
Jasper complied, bristling as the cold metal clamped around his wrists. It'd been quite a while since he'd worn a pair of cuffs, and it was a feeling he hadn't missed.
"Prisoner secure! Open cell B105! Transfer!"
"Later, Finch. Come back anytime," he heard one of his now-technically-former cellmates jeer as the guard nudged him down the cell block with his baton.
Everything after that was a classic game of hurry up and wait. He was dumped in a large holding room roughly the size of a basketball court, populated at first by about fifteen other inmates. But as time passed at an agonizingly slow rate, more and more were filtered in until he couldn't stretch his arms without bumping into someone. It was like being stuck in a sardine can; it certainly fucking smelled like one. Every so often a jailer would show up, shout at them to pipe down, then make announcements that Jasper would've paid more attention to if the six-foot-five gorillaman standing behind him wasn't literally breathing down his neck.
Eventually they started calling names, five at a time, and when Jasper was up he was led to another holding cell where he was strip-searched for contraband. And while this wasn't the first instance the cops saw him in his birthday suit (his twentieth birthday had been wild), he was sober this time, and this was very, very different.
The guards left nothing unchecked. Nothing.
He would've felt less violated if he dropped the soap.
Another holding cell. More waiting. More shouting. More godawful body musk that left a few guys retching, ignorant of the guards screaming at them to shut it. Jasper hadn't expected any of this. Was the transfer process supposed to be this… brutal? It felt inhumane, in his opinion.
Then again, he was just prison scum as far as the rest of the country cared. Uncle Sam put him there to be punished, not rehabilitated.
He sighed through the background noise. If only more politicians dropped that stupid 'tough on crime' stance, perhaps Hixenbaugh wouldn't be overcrowded and he wouldn't be needing a fucking transfer. He wondered if Mark would agree.
Jasper heard his name called again and hurriedly squeezed through the sea of bodies out of the cell. His hands and ankles were cuffed as soon as he emerged beyond the door's threshold; he couldn't care less though. The stale prison air never tasted so sweet. The cuffs were linked to a belly chain connected to three more inmates; one in front and two behind.
Then the staff ushered him and his new friends to yet another stuffy cage. Ugh, this was high school all over again: Go to a room, get bored, get yelled at, go to another room. Repeat until your mental health erodes and/or someone gets shot. At least he didn't need to pee. It would've been hella awkward while chained to three other men, and the guards probably didn't carry bathroom passes.
Just when it seemed the heat death of the universe would occur before the transfer process finished, the magic words graced his ears:
"Start loading them up! Let's go!"
By the time Jasper and company were escorted outside Hixenbaugh's main gate, it was already late afternoon. A part of him noted how this was the first time he'd ventured beyond the prison's walls in three or four years– and with any luck, he wouldn't be coming back.
A bigger part was concerned with how he was supposed to wipe the sweat off his brow when he was cuffed like this. He'd forgotten just how hot it could get around these parts. The Arizona sun hung in the cloudless sky above, relentlessly beating its blinding rays down on officers and inmates alike, regardless of innocence or guilt.
A glint from one of the guard towers made him turn his head. Squinting through the harsh sunlight, Jasper caught the occasional reflection off the scope of a rifle pointed at the column of prisoners.
Even though his survival instincts screamed at him to hurry it up, he trudged ahead slowly, mindful not to trip and start a domino effect. Everything was fine, he reminded himself. Nobody was causing a scene. There was no reason to rush. It wasn't like they could flee anyway, chained together like… like…
He couldn't think of a good analogy.
The group reached a small, deserted train station after a short trek– well, mostly deserted. A locomotive and two rail cars, all painted black and blue, were parked on the tracks, although Jasper didn't see anyone on the platform itself.
To the casual observer, using trains as prisoner transport vehicles might've seemed odd. For the residents of this northwest Arizona county, Jasper included, it was an expected sight. A good railway system was essential when you lived this close to the Four Corners Monument, after all. It would've been weirder if there wasn't a train station a stone's throw away from the prison.
Once inside the first rail car, the quartet of prisoners were unchained and led to separate seats walled off from one another by wire mesh. Surprise, surprise; the seats were made of metal and the windows barred. Settling in without his ass chaffing was difficult.
"What does an inmate have to do for a little five-star service?" Jasper muttered.
The train's horn blared minutes after the last prisoner was seated onboard. He felt the car lurch into motion, and soon they were off to Elm Ridge.
The ride, to put it lightly, was boring as fuck. Any attempt at conversation between the prisoners was swiftly shut down by guards with shotguns riding, well, shotgun. Jasper must've spent nearly an hour with his forehead resting against the cool glass of the windowpane, resigned to whatever fate awaited him.
Off to a new beginning, he thought. Maybe I'll poke around and check out those educational classes Mark was yammering about. Pass or fail, at least they'd keep me busy.
Yeah… that was what he'd do. And if there weren't any classes, then he'd find some other way to straighten himself out. Even though today's events stretched his patience (and asshole) to the limit, Jasper was optimistic. This wasn't just transfer day – it was the day he'd roll up his sleeves and start mending the bridge between him and his brother.
Jasper Finch entered the prison system a broken, drug-addicted mess of a man with no life skills. And he pledged right there on that train car to end it as somebody Mark would be proud of. Hell, he'd kicked the heroin, so that was progress already!
Too bad I'm nowhere close to parole eligibility.
Ugh. Reality really was a bitch. He let out a low groan and would've lamented more on fate's cruelty had he chosen not to look out the window at that exact moment.
Although thick and numerous, the bars didn't block the whole view of the outside world. Jasper instantly recognized the water tower looming on the horizon; partly because he always thought it was shaped like a giant crack pipe, mostly because of the two huge words painted on its bulbous side.
Red Pass. His hometown.
A shitty place to live if you weren't a choo-choo fanatic, admittedly, but home all the same.
He wondered if anything changed in the years he was away. Mark provided a few snippets here and there, but he was never the gossipy type. Did his friends still think about him? Did they miss him? He knew the local police sure as shit didn't. Same with his old neighbors, most likely. And the Arizona Homeowners' Association. And the church ladies.
…Damn, he would've had a lot of making up to do if he actually cared about them.
Jasper yawned. The lack of sleep was catching up to him, and there was a lot of ground left to cover before they reached Elm Ridge.
It wouldn't hurt to rest his eyes for a little while…
"It was all my fault."
Erm… what?
"My decisions, and everything they caused."
Again, what? Was his subconscious fucking with him?
The answer must've been yes, because a second later his mind was assaulted on all sides by random visions flashing in and out of focus. No, not just visions: snippets of memories; ones that didn't belong to him.
He saw a city in ruins. Long, slender legs. A young man in a suit laying lifeless on the rain-slicked pavement. Something resembling an iPad, with three bullet holes in the touch screen.
Ah. He understood what happened: Some dude's girlfriend caught him looking at porn and shot him dead. As for the crumbling city, it matched the rumors he'd heard about Detroit and San Francisco.
The feminine background voice continued, "It had to come to this for me to finally realize that he was right all along…"
Murdering your romantic partner in a fit of jealous rage was bad, yes. Though in the poor guy's defense, a man sometimes needed to see other women. As in look at them, not bed them. It could even spruce up the ol' sex life when handled right.
"...And because of me, he paid the ultimate price."
Searing light burned through the darkness. When Jasper could see again, his first thought was that this was definitely not the train to Elm Ridge Correctional Facility.
The second was the gradual realization that he wasn't alone.
A teenage girl in a pure white uniform was seated opposite from him, her dainty hands clasped together in her lap. At first glance her hair appeared to be the same white color as her clothes, though when his vision adjusted to the brightness, he noted the palest tint of blue in her long locks.
She didn't look too good. Her face – what little of it he could make out through the sun's glare – was bruised and caked with dirt. Blood dripped from a deep cut on her left cheek, slow and rhythmic. More grievous wounds on her abdomen and waist stained her immaculate uniform an ugly crimson shade.
He had a gut feeling this wasn't the same chick who put a bullet in her boyfriend.
Who was she, then? What was going on here?
…Was he drugged in his sleep?
Jasper did a little experimenting with acid once. Well, more like twice… Three times never hurt anybody, okay?! The point was that he had a working knowledge of psychedelics, and nothing in this scenario lined up with his previous experiences tripping balls. For starters, he saw neither hide nor horn of the giant flying narwhal that spouted planetary trivia.
The mystery passenger smiled weakly. "Hello, Jasper Finch."
Hello, strange girl who looks like she got mauled by coyotes.
He felt… off. Not exactly a descriptive term, but he didn't know how else to phrase it. He knew he was seated but he couldn't feel his body weight. He couldn't move a muscle, not even his eyelids, forcing his gaze to remain on the injured young woman. He briefly worried he'd magically transformed into a lawn gnome.
"Do you ever wish you could atone for your past mistakes, Mr. Finch?" the girl asked wistfully out of the blue. "Just… go back in time, do things differently?"
Okay, wow. Either her wounds weren't as serious as they looked or she was delirious from blood loss; he couldn't tell which. There wasn't much he could do to aid her in his current state, however, so he decided to ride the flow until this bizarre high wore off.
The truth was that he'd give his left testicle to go back and fix all the crap he'd caused. He also knew that was impossible.
What's done is done. No use agonizing on the what-ifs. The best he could do now was learn from the past and forge ahead, although he wished he didn't need to serve the remainder of his sentence first.
The girl lowered her head a fraction. He saw a teardrop fall, intermixing with blood.
"There was no one else like him…" she whispered after a long silence. "So selfless. So brave. So charismatic…"
Who was she talking about? Did she mean the dead guy? He would've pressed her for answers, if only his damn mouth worked.
She looked back at Jasper, voice trembling. "I'm sorry… It never should've come to this. I just didn't know what else to do. You're a vastly different person than he was, but you share the same heart, and that'll have to be enough."
Jasper hadn't the faintest clue what she was rambling about.
"Have you ever thought of becoming a teacher, Mr. Finch?" She hit him with another unexpected curveball.
He stared at her in bewilderment. A teacher? Him? This chick was off her rocker. Jasper was about as qualified to teach children as Kanye West was to be a NASA engineer. His grades were mediocre and he'd spent more time in the principal's office than homeroom. And while he didn't have a problem with kids, he doubted their parents would be comfortable leaving them in the care of a tattooed felon.
Speaking of which, he was also kinda busy serving a fifteen-year prison term. Not exactly the opportune time to go job hunting.
The girl in white seemed to pick up on his misgivings. "Oh, I'm deeply sorry. It's just that…" She trailed off. Jasper imagined the gears turning in her head. "I think there are many students who would stand to benefit from your… unique presence. In practice, you'd be more of a guidance counselor than a teacher."
Another pause. "I believe all students should have an adult they can place their trust in. A role model. A sensei. Your determination to right your wrongdoings is admirable, Mr. Finch. Why not let others follow your good example?"
He hesitated. Why, though? What was he concerned about? None of this was even real. It was a drug-induced fever dream; nothing more.
Still, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling something wasn't right…
"You'll be granted immediate release from prison if you accept."
Deal!
The girl exhaled, leaning back to relax in her plush seat. She looked content, or maybe relieved. Hard to tell with the stupid window glare. "Then it's settled. I believe what matters most are the choices we make, not the experiences we have," she stated. "Which is why… I've chosen to place my trust in you. Finch-sensei."
Jasper heard maybe like half of what she said, too giddy to really listen. Immediate parole in exchange for a teaching gig? Nevermind that she'd neglected to explain how she'd bail him out– he just hit the big score!
So long Elm Ridge, and hello… umm… where would he be teaching, again?
Also, what did she just call him? Finch… sensei?
Hearing that word awakened a long-dormant memory. He recalled some ultra weeaboo kid, way back in middle school who referred to his teachers as 'Sensei', whatever that meant. Young Jasper had tons of fun breaking into his locker and leaving its erotic contents in places where people would find it.
"I've spoken of responsibility before." The wounded girl's voice snapped him back to false reality. "I didn't truly understand it then, but now I do. Adulthood, responsibility, obligation… and the choices you make that extend beyond those ideals. I even understand their implications."
Great, she'd gone back to spewing cryptic bullshit.
He was caught off guard when her expression hardened. "I must warn you though, Finch-sensei, that you were not the ideal candidate for a position of this magnitude. You were simply the least likely to refuse." She let out a fleeting sigh. "However, as you said, what's done is done. I've chosen to trust you. I have to trust that you can free us from this twisted, distorted fate… and find the choices that will lead us to a new reality."
His brain hurt.
"Above all else… I have to trust that your decisions will lead to similar outcomes." The train shook violently all of a sudden, nearly throwing the girl off-balance. Somehow, through the rattling and her own debilitating injuries, she managed to smile. "Ah, one last thing. None of this lines up with the original plan, so your journey will begin a bit… differently. Brace yourself."
Metal screeched, the shaking intensified-
-and the world went dark.
"-arriving momentarily at DU autonomous district. We apologize for any inconvenience caused by the delay. Thank you for riding the Kivotos subway system: 'Fast Transit, Underground!'"
Jasper was no stranger to passing out and waking up somewhere else after a hard night of partying. With his buddies being fellow pranksters, combined with Red Pass' extensive railroad network, he sometimes wound up pretty far from home.
One particularly memorable instance involved an impromptu trip to the Grand Canyon. He'd bought one of those cheesy postcards for Mark, hoping an apology present would dampen his brother's anger. It hadn't.
So yeah, he wasn't all that surprised when he regained consciousness inside a moving subway car, although he wasn't sure how he'd gotten there when he was supposed to be on a train to the correctional facility.
It was a mystery he'd worry about later, because holy crap, the hangover. His head throbbed like a cheap neon display outside a sex shop.
"Ugh, what happened…?" Jasper raised a hand to rub his temple, stopping when he noticed something peculiar.
His right handcuff was unlocked. Same with the legcuff on his left foot, he noted after a brief inspection. What the heck…? Who stole the jailer's key? He wasn't complaining, per se, but the growing pile of questions made him anxious.
That anxiety kickstarted his brain, memories emerging through the fog of sleep. The last thing he remembered was riding a train to Elm Ridge Correctional Facility in Colorado, but… he ended up someplace else. The specifics eluded him. He vaguely recalled a teenage girl, and… something about a job offer…
Jasper shuddered from head to toe.
No fucking way.
He'd assumed he was hallucinating from a bad batch of LSD, or maybe heatstroke, or his own guilty subconscious pleading for penance. But what if – by some microscopic, outlandish chance – it wasn't a dream at all? What if his meeting with what's-her-face had been real?
What the hell did he agree to do for her?
Ah, screw it. No turning back now. He'd roll with whatever consequences were in store for him, good or bad, the same as always.
Unless they killed him of course, but that was incredibly unlikely. He signed up to be a teacher. What harm could come from that?
How about one of your students hiding a damn gun in his backpack?
Jasper dispelled the morbid possibility with a shake of his head. Enough of that; he needed to focus on the here and now. He would've asked the nearest person how he wound up on a subway and what their destination was, except there were no other passengers. It was completely empty save for him.
Hmm. Troubling. Perhaps the answers he sought were contained within the crumpled piece of paper he just now realized he was holding.
He fumbled to open the note, eager to see if the mysterious girl from beyond left him some instructions, or at least the name of the school he'd supposedly be working at. Inside were two short sentences in neat cursive handwriting:
We thirst for the seven wailings.
We bear the koan of Jericho.
"...God dammit." Jasper sighed. He didn't know why he'd expected something sensible.
Well, so much for that lead. He re-folded the paper before stuffing it in his shoe for safekeeping, just in case he stumbled across a librarian or someone who could explain its meaning. Preferably in a way an idiot like him could understand.
He pondered what to do for another minute as the subway car gradually began losing speed. The PA system echoed through the empty space: "Now arriving at DU autonomous district. We politely ask all passengers to please watch your step while disembarking."
Autonomous district?... That didn't ring a bell. Was he in the capital? No, that was DC. Still, it seemed as good a stop as any; lingering in the metro solved nothing, and the sooner he was topside, the sooner he could find some answers.
The car slowed to a steady halt. Its automatic doors slid open with a hydraulic hiss, inviting the crowded background noise inside. Jasper stepped out onto the subway platform-
-and immediately collided with a midget passing by.
"Oof! So sorry, so sorry!"
"Nah, my B. Didn't mean to bump into you." Jasper was prepared to brush it off and move on, until he got a better look at the guy. The sight froze him into stunned silence.
What he'd assumed was a short man, wasn't a man at all. It was a dog. A pug, to be specific. A pug… man, thing. It stood about four and a half feet tall, somehow balancing its weight on its skinny hind legs. A green sweater vest gave the bipedal canine a human-esque vibe that didn't jive with him. Oh, and apparently it talked.
It was surreal. Impossible.
Also kinda pathetic, to be honest. The darn thing was having trouble breathing.
The pug tilted its furry head, blinking its beady black eyes at him. His shock must've shown on his face. "...Um, sir? Is there something wrong?"
"N-No," Jasper stammered. "No, nothing's wrong."
The pug man nodded – or something as close to nodding as dogs were capable of. It said nothing, though it trembled as its gaze roamed over Jasper from head to toe. Was it… was it scared of him?
When viewed side-by-side, it was easy to tell that Mark and Jasper were siblings: Both had dark brown eyes and hair, fair skin, and average builds; though Jasper had an inch over his brother at six feet tall.
The resemblance ended there. Mark was clean-shaven and preferred to keep his hair short, while Jasper rocked a side swept undercut and trimmed beard. Mark didn't have a drop of ink on his body; Jasper collected tattoos like they were Funko Pops. It was a physical reflection of their wildly differing personalities.
In summary, Jasper totally understood why the talking pooch would find him intimidating, especially since he was wearing-
Oh crap, he was still in his prison duds!
"Um… I, uh…" the dog took a fearful step backward and, before Jasper could say something, turned and scampered away with its tail between its legs– literally, in this instance. In its hurry to escape, however, the dog dropped a small metallic object from its vest pocket.
He bent down to pick it up. It was a silver coin with flower petal engravings and odd symbols running along its circumference. Some type of Asian language. Japanese? Korean? They all looked the same to him.
Whatever. It was his now.
Clutching the coin like a possessive hamster, Jasper took another look around the platform… and to his mounting horror, realized the pug-man chimera hadn't been a singular anomaly. He saw cats and dogs of all breeds, sizes, and states of dress milling about; each of them walking with the same human-like gait.
Speaking of humans, while he did see plenty of humans intermingled in the foot traffic, some of them were no less absurd in appearance than the animals.
Hairstyles in every color of the rainbow plus extra. Some had horns; others possessed pointed elven ears. He caught a glimpse of a lady with a pair of honest-to-god wings growing from her ass. A few sported extra sets of furry animal ears in addition to their normal ones. Given that humans in this area seemed to coexist with sentient housepets…
He opted not to think about the implications.
On a side note, the less said about the robots in business suits, the better.
Curiously, every human (though could he even call some of these things human?) had an extra feature setting them apart from the robots and animals: rings of light in all different shapes, colors, and patterns hovering over their heads. Kinda like those whatchamacallits angels had. The proper term itched just beneath the surface of his mind. He'd heard of these things before; the name was on the tip of his tongue…
Halos! That's what they were. Heh. He must've stuck out like a unicorn compared to the other humans here, being a haloless peon… dressed in a bright orange prison jumpsuit… and oh god people were staring.
He'd best hoof it to the subway exit before someone sicced the po-po on him.
It was a common misconception that inmates who were fresh out of prison seamlessly reintegrated into civilian life. The reality, however, was that breaking down years of harsh conditioning was hardly a cakewalk. The sudden thrust back into normal society was jarring for many ex-convicts, if not overwhelming.
Jasper knew this to be true. He'd watched The Shawshank Redemption, after all.
Maybe that explained why his nerves felt itchy – today marked the first time in over three years he'd walked among the general public as a free man, and his psyche was having trouble adjusting to the change.
An equally likely alternative was that conversing with a talking dog left a dent in his sanity. Could've been both.
Stepping out into the bright sunlight, he emerged on a bustling city street populated by more animals. More robots. More strange humanoids. And fucktons more teenage girls, all with halos.
And guns.
…
Okay, yeah, he was definitely on LSD. Someone slipped him an acid tablet while he was snoozing and catapulted him to high heaven. It was the only explanation that made a lick of sense.
He looked skyward. Still no narwhal, although the massive, ethereal rings blanketing the city's horizon were quite a sight by themselves. They seemed to originate from a massive beam of blue light he estimated was roughly two dozen miles away. In a total desecration of the laws of physics, the beam was produced from – or touched down on; he didn't fucking know – an absolutely enormous white skyscraper with chunks of unknown material orbiting it.
"Weirdest trip I've ever had," Jasper muttered, privately wondering how long that excuse would hold.
Saying this was bad was a colossal understatement. He'd made a terrible, terrible mistake agreeing to Train Car Girl's proposal. Fortunately there was a payphone next to the subway station's entrance, and he had money.
He slipped the foreign coin he'd procured into the slot and hastily dialed a number. Mark would be pissed he'd formed a pact with an interdimensional teenager, but he'd know what to do. He always did.
Jasper restlessly drummed his fingers on the plastic casing. "C'mon Mark, pick up, pick up…"
"The line you have attempted to reach is either unavailable or is no longer in service. Please try a different number, or contact your-"
"Dammit!" He slammed the phone down, frustration and fear boiling over. The machine spit out his change.
Alright, so the easy way wasn't an option. How far from home was he that he couldn't even call his brother? How'd he board the subway here, anyway? Where even was 'here'? Every storefront ad was written in a mix of English and what he guessed was Japanese, which sorta helped, but it also opened up a whole other realm of questions.
He loitered in front of the payphone for a while, deep in thought, idly playing with his handcuffs as he tried to figure out what to do next.
Mark couldn't rescue him from this mess. In hindsight, he wouldn't have helped anyway. But who else could he turn to? Big Martin? Jasper wasn't keen on dialing up Hixenbaugh, especially when he may or may not count as an escapee – he wasn't that dumb. The girl who brought him here was also a no-go; he had no clue where, who, or what she was, and that was assuming she even existed outside his drug-addled mind.
Even though he was smack-dab in the middle of a populated metropolis, Jasper felt alone for the first time in… ever, really.
He glanced back at the skyscraper he'd dubbed the Rave Tower.
May as well check it out, he decided with a mental shrug.
It looked important, so it stood to reason he'd find important people there, right? Surely someone in this city knew how to free him from this psychedelic circus trip, and maybe answer a few questions on the side. After that he'd, um… become a teacher. Or something. He hadn't figured that part out yet.
He would eventually, however, one step at a time.
Jasper barely took that first step when he suddenly heard "Excuse me, sir?" followed by a tap on his shoulder. He whirled around, startled and barely restraining the urge to throw a sucker punch.
"Greetings, citizen!" some kid oblivious to how close she'd come to getting a black eye chirped. Jasper initially mistook her for the same girl from the train, since she possessed a similar uniform and pale hair, but the universe wasn't generous enough to hand him a freebie like that. Unlike the other chick, this particular girl wore her hair in braids, had a purple armband on her left arm, and – most importantly – wasn't bleeding like raw hamburger.
A second teenage girl stood adjacent, watching Jasper with mild intrigue in her rose-colored eyes. Unlike her partner, her dark blue hair was in messy ponytails, but it was the airsoft rifle clutched in her small hands that earned his full focus. Was that… was that a pink magazine?
She'd fit right in on a battlefield made of cotton candy.
"Whaddaya want?" he grunted, not at all in the mood for this.
The snowy-haired girl's bright smile faltered for a second. She exchanged glances with her friend, who shrugged as if to say "What do you want ME to do?", before turning back to him, making a visible effort to recompose herself.
"W-Well, um, we're from Valkyrie's Public Safety Bureau, and we've come in response to calls about a suspicious individual wearing an orange jumpsuit!" she explained a bit too cheerfully.
"We just had to be on patrol a couple blocks over…" the second girl complained. "I really wanted to stop by the donut shop, too. A new icing comes out today…"
A couple of stupid kids playing pretend cop, Jasper rationalized. Nothing to be concerned about.
Unlucky for them that they'd stumbled across a real criminal, with a Bachelor's in Bullshitting to boot.
"Suspicious? Me?" Feigning innocence came as naturally as breathing. "Nah, I'm just out on a stroll enjoying the beautiful weather."
"...In a prison uniform?" The first girl cocked an eyebrow, frowning skeptically.
"It's a cultural statement."
The eyebrow rose higher. "How so?"
"I'm glad you asked! It symbolizes how prisoners are often ill-prepared to return to the humdrum of daily life." He smirked crookedly, sensing an opportunity to toy with her. "You're on the Fed's payroll, ain'tcha? Surely you know the tyrants running the justice department believe retribution beats rehabilitation?"
The girl's expression switched from skeptical to flabbergasted. She trembled in place as she squeaked out, "H-Huh?! But that's… I…" She shook her head and glared firmly at him. "Sir, as a proud student of the Valkyrie Police Academy, I'm afraid I must respectfully disagree!"
Funny. He wasn't aware of any police academies that accepted teenagers with hair dye and colorful contact lenses. Judging by appearances, he guesstimated they'd last about a month before getting themselves killed.
"Furthermore," the girl continued heatedly, "would justice really be served if the bad guys aren't punished for their crimes?"
Jasper shrugged. "Don't know, don't care. You'll have to debate that with an actual criminal, because unless picking up a dropped coin is illegal, then I ain't done nothin'." He turned his back to the pair and began to walk away. "Now if you'll pardon me, I've got a city to explore. Have fun handing out parking tickets or whatever."
"The Public Safety Bureau does way more than that!"
Her angry retort fell on deaf ears. He was in the middle of an investigation; he couldn't let himself get distracted riling up cutesy cosplay cops. The quicker he reached that tower, the sooner he could start planning his next move.
Except the chick with the rifle opened her donut hole and ruined everything.
"Uhhh, Kirino? It's proooobably unrelated, but like… wasn't there, y'know, a mass breakout at the Corrections Bureau this morning?"
He heard a gasp. "Oh my gosh Fubuki, you're right!" Footsteps chased after him, and moments later a gloved hand grabbed his forearm. "Sir! I apologize, but in light of recent developments, I'll need to take you to the station for questioning! Follow us, please!"
Jasper's agitation was building again. For fuck's sake, why wouldn't these brats leave him alone? Why did they insist on keeping up this ridiculous police charade?
He shook away her hold on him without looking back. "Beat it, kid."
Click!
Jasper stopped. Peeked over his shoulder. Saw a gun pointed at him for the second time today.
The passing foot traffic gave the trio a much wider berth, although he wasn't sure why. Could nobody see they were pretend cops with airsoft guns?
"I'm giving you an order, sir," the white-haired girl – now identified as Kirino – said with surprising firmness. "If you refuse to cooperate, I'll be forced to take you in the hard way!"
"Hey, uh, I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Kirino." The second girl, Fubuki, interjected nervously. "He doesn't seem to be armed or anything. Besides, he doesn't even have a halo…"
Jasper's gaze dropped to the revolver in Kirino's hands. She'd painted the hammer and grip purple. How adorable.
"...I don't have time for this." He turned back around and resumed walking.
Yeah, he'd disobeyed her; what was she gonna do about it? Shoot him? He wasn't scared of a fake gun-
BANG!
At close range with such a high caliber, the shot was practically deafening. An invisible object whizzed so close to Jasper's head it clipped the tip of his undercut.
Holy shit! Real gun, REAL GUN!
The scene descended into total anarchy in one second flat. Despite the painful echoing in his eardrums, he still heard pedestrians screaming; people scattered and ran for cover, pushing and shoving each other to the pavement in a panic-fueled frenzy. All logical thinking took a backseat as pure survival instincts kicked in, urging them to get away from the danger at any cost.
As for Jasper, he took the fraction of time between the gun going off and hell breaking loose to reflect on all the crap he'd put up with these past two weeks.
His own brother estranged him. He'd been forced to reckon with his life choices. He had his freakin' anal cavity searched for drugs, hours before some bloodstained bitch whisked him to a city populated by robots, bootleg angels, and fuzzy abominations.
And it didn't matter what he was tripping on – he knew from the bottom of his mind that he'd narrowly just avoided death. It was too much for his already overloaded brain to handle, and it caused something in him to snap.
So instead of doing the smart thing like, say, surrendering, Jasper Finch made what was perhaps the worst decision possible: run for the hills.
A potent mix of adrenaline and fear surged through his veins as he charged forward and weaved his way into the screaming throng of people, unashamedly using them as meat shields to put between himself and the overzealous cadets with guns. He gambled they couldn't possibly be stupid enough to fire into a crowd. Police training forbade putting bystanders in harm's way, didn't it?
Kirino either hadn't read that memo or didn't care, or maybe things just worked differently in this city. A second boom reverberated; an innocent labrador retriever running a foot to Jasper's right cried out as it collapsed. (And yes: it was a black lab.)
He singled out Kirino's panicked voice through the chaos: "Oh shoot, not again!"
"What the fuck, Kirino?! That's like the third time this month!"
A small part of Jasper giggled Those white outfits really aren't helping but most of him was more concerned that yes, they really were that stupid.
He flowed like water around people and street stalls, trying to keep his movements erratic as shot after shot rang out behind him, every bullet miraculously missing.
He ducked into a side alley when the gunfire suddenly stopped. Kirino must've had to reload, meaning now was the chance to shake the Buddy Cops from Hell before she finished. Alone in this cramped alley, Jasper was extremely vulnerable, but if he made it to the next street undetected, he could hopefully find a place to hide.
Small mercy that Fubuki hadn't opened fire yet, though the question of whether that was due to discipline or fear of prison time was up in the air.
Jasper burst out of the alleyway like a horse out of the gate the moment he heard Kirino yell "There he is!" He booked it to the right and cut across the street, vaguely aware he'd entered some type of market area lined with outdoor vendors. Tires screeched; a taxi driver rolled the windows down and cussed at him, threatening to call the cops. If only he fucking knew!
Miles away, the humongous skyscraper loomed, silently watching.
Another gunshot exploded a piece of pottery on the display stand he'd just cleared, showering Jasper in clay fragments. None of them cut him, thankfully.
"You're only making it harder by resisting!" Kirino hollered.
Resisting what? Dying?!
He flipped her the bird as he fled down a nearby alley.
The process repeated five more times: Escape down a random side street, attempt to lose them in the next open area, and fail miserably. Worse, his muscles were growing tired; spending twenty-three hours in a cell per day for three or four years sapped most of his endurance. He was panting and sweating by the sixth alleyway. The present danger kept him moving, but his stamina wouldn't last forever.
Case in point, he blamed his wobbly legs for the collision with another teenage girl.
"Ouch! Watch where you're going!" she reprimanded.
Jasper barely paid her any mind, staring in mute terror at the assault rifle slung on her back. He'd assumed the guns were fakes. Toys. He'd been wrong, and he was scared shitless.
The girl eyed him cautiously. "...You, uh, feeling okay? You don't look so good…"
He could act before she reached her gun. Maybe he could take her hostage, use her to dissuade-
No.
Reaching deep into his reserves, Jasper found his second wind and took off. He grimaced, hating that he'd entertained such an awful idea.
Most of Red Pass' townsfolk viewed him as a lost cause. To them he was a nuisance, a pest, an irredeemable criminal, and a hundred other demeaning things. All of them were true. But he wasn't a monster. He'd never forgive himself if he stooped that low.
"C'mon, just give up already!" Fubuki's whining preceded another shot from Kirino. Speaking of monsters… "The longer this drags out, the more paperwork I'll be stuck with!"
"Fuck… you…!" Jasper wheezed.
He darted into another alley, seriously contemplating throwing himself into a dumpster and covering himself in trash to blend in.
Unfortunately, nothing in the alley allowed him to unleash his inner stealth ninja. There wasn't a lot to see besides a handful of crumpled soda cans, a few discarded cigarettes, some colorful graffiti painted over the plain gray walls… and a chain link fence blocking the exit.
Jasper's heart leaped into his throat. No, no, no! What asshole put a fucking fence there?!
"He went this way!"
Less thinking, more climbing!
A risky endeavor, but doable. He could maybe make it halfway up if he got a good enough start.
Jasper took a running leap, clinging to the side of the fence like a tattooed spidermonkey. His hands found their grip but his shoes were slipping; he reached higher and began his slow ascent, fighting against time and his own weight. He raised his head and cursed under his breath when he realized he'd barely climbed more than a foot.
Something bounced and rolled up behind him, coming to rest against the fence's edge. He glanced down at a small, cylindrical object shaped like a-
BANG!
Stun grenade.
Sight and sound both disappeared. He saw nothing but white; heard nothing except persistent, torturous ringing. It felt like a hundred alarm clocks were going off inside his skull. Jasper let out a wordless cry, reflexively covering his ears in a vain attempt to block out the noise.
Then he remembered he'd been climbing a fence.
The air was soft and gentle against his skin. The asphalt was not.
He groaned in pain, laying motionless where he'd faceplanted on the ground. He willed his exhausted body to move but it refused to budge.
A slim, human-sized weight settled on his back. Someone grabbed his arms and re-fastened his handcuffs. As his senses gradually rebooted, he heard Fubuki's muffled voice scold her partner:
"...given non-lethal weapons, for situations like this. You could've killed the guy!"
"I said I'm sorry, okay?!"
"The Captain's gonna have your head when she gets wind of this. Ugh, I deserve a week's worth of donuts after today."
Jasper grit his teeth. Great, just fucking great. He'd been in this knock-off Tokyo Disneyland for under an hour and already got himself arrested.
Mark would've facepalmed.
They said, "All teenagers scare the livin' shit out of me"~
They could care less as long as someone'll bleed~
I had that song playing while writing the chase scene. Pretty fitting, if I say so myself.
So. This freaking story. I like to think of it as a "what-if" scenario where the canon Sensei dies/fails/changes his name and skips town after Kronos learns he bought Iori's middle school yearbook/whatever, forcing the General Student Council President to hash together a Plan B. Time will tell if that was the right call or if she doomed Kivotos. Again.
On to Jasper's character. Who the heck wants to read a story about a charming, friendly guy who's smart and liked by everyone? Booooring. On the other hand, I also didn't want to make him a brooding edgelord with a tragic backstory. So I ended up going with something in-between: a fun-loving dude who made some bad choices and has to face the fallout. He'll never be as good at the job as canon Sensei, nor will he win over as many hearts, but he'll get better as events progress.
Give this story a shout if you wanna see a second chapter.
P.S. Totally coincidental that I posted this on our favorite cranky treasurer's birthday.