Chapter 29: Wicked Stories
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1. Wily's Story
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Forte did make good on his promise. Upon the agreement, he immediately rectified several problems. First, he located and then liquidated some of Wily's sequestered zennies in the undernet, filling Wily's pockets with urgently needed untraceable cash. Second, he infiltrated the law enforcement archives and then sabotaged several specific files to blur Wily's identity and involvement with WWW, effectively removing him from the wanted list. Third, he negotiated the relocation of Wily to a more acceptable accommodation via several undernet-mediated transactions. Within 24 hours, Wily found himself escorted and then transplanted by several ex-military men into another run-down motel. The place had coffee-stained walls and damp corners spotted with black mold colonies, but the overall state was far more acceptable. Compared to the last habitation, the moldy corners were almost lickable!
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Cash was spent liberally on the purchase of securities and then new electronics (and on ice creams. Yes, he could not forget that). Forte made Wily relocate five more times before finally settling in a small studio, purchased with an alias, and the mad doctor pleasantly agreed to every arrangement made by the navi, for both of them were in possession of an unreasonable degree of paranoia only satisfied by such excessively convoluted procedures of security. Soon, after settling, Wily supplied himself with countless exceedingly priced electronics and monitors that made his place appear typically evil (plus the unholy amount of mint-chocolate flavor). A workstation was assembled. Having thus regained his footing in the world, and feeling magnanimous in the sense of safety, Wily unlocked his knowledge. He shared the terrible tales of his experiments and findings.
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"Forte…it is difficult. It is truly difficult. Where to start? How to begin? We are all bound by time. Therefore, the most complete tale is always chronological. So it is; I shall deliver my witness in the order they occurred…"
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The first part of the story was the same as the previous recounting: after parting with Dr. Tadashi Hikari, Wily struggled to supply himself with the necessary equipment to develop a functioning humanoid robot. He tried and sunk all of his WWW profits into that end, but progress could not be made… Then it dawned on him: it happened that Yuichiro had already constructed a virtual mind and then released into the cyberworld—why not improve on that? Surely, a day will come when the robotic, physical body is made! In preparation for that fateful day, he had the moral obligation to prepare a mind of such perfection (a precise imitation of a human's). It had to be him. No one would get it right. It had to be him! No one would get it right! Netnavis, unfortunately, missed a component—one crucial component that defined a human as wily saw it—a dream. The goal was obvious, and the work was set.
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Netnavis implanted with the dream program all became irrecoverably corrupted. Bitter, but unable to find a fault in his coding, Wily began to call his dream program a virus. A fitting name, really. Frankly, even the virus was an overstatement—it was a program that failed to self-propagate. A toxin or a venom would've been more accurate (given what happened next, a religiously minded would argue that it is more correctly designated as holy incense). Ah, but it is only semantics, and to call something a poison tends to give an impression that the object has some use; Wily could not find any practical use for his program. Then, why not call it a virus—an utterly useless thing?
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Then it came to pass that Wily noticed an eerie pattern in the derangement of dreaming navis. It also came to pass that he noticed, amidst the deranged babblings of affected navis, a strange attempt to communicate with him by something, beyond the veil, beyond the dream, was embedded. As proof of its reality, Wily was given a code that rendered physical impossibility into reality: dimension area. At first, he could not determine its purpose. The divine (or demonic) code only generated an electromagnetic field of extraordinary magnitude. A source of infinite energy? The gateway to the next era of technology? All good conjectures, but what all dimension area did was to bridge the wicked cyberworld and the Euclidean space of the physical world. He realized this when a high-end custom netnavi that had been abducted and then injected with dream suddenly materialized itself through the D-area and then tried to destroy him… Oh, horror! Doubly horrible was when the second custom netnavi of similar caliber materialized itself into the world without(!) the D-area and then tried to destroy him. Oh, terror! Wily had learned his lesson; he continued experiments with safer options. His benefactor, Count Elecitel, began to formulate ambitions to increase his grandeur using the new phenomenon and the 'god' they had encountered. The story up to this point is nothing new; it is already told in detail in the second arc.
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The contact with 'god' was maintained. Wily did this with seeming reluctance while eager in heart. He just pretended his reluctance as he wanted to distance himself from the idiots around him by assuming a contrasting attitude. It was certainly an excessively pretentious approach to life, a method of maintaining his brittle ego. Regardless, the D-area was continually investigated. One limitation he had found-
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"…Do you still have this code?" inquired Forte, in a quiet voice that trembled with excitement.
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"…"
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"Well, Wily?"
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"What?" Wily blurted out hysterically, a response commonly observed from a humiliated arrogant spirit.
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"The Dimension area, do you have it?"
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"Uggghrrrrrrr…" Wily growled like a threatened dog. "…No…I do not. It is lost."
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"How-"
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"I know, I KNOW! HOW COULD I? THE GREAT DR. WILY, MAKE SUCH A MISTAKE?! I KNOW! NOW, DON'T- JUST- JUST LET ME FINISH, ALRIGHT?!"
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Wily hid behind the shouts, covering his wound; Forte decided that it was in his best interest to not interfere further.
-The one limitation that Wily had found regarding the D-area was that it was accessible only to navis that had dreamed sufficiently much. Based on the observations, the threshold seemed to be when the netnavis professed to have met the god. It naturally followed that only custom navis with enough complexity could survive long enough to be 'blessed' with this extraordinary ability. However, there were some variations and inconsistencies with the timing of the blessing; some netnavis gained this ability in their inaugural audience; some after multiple audiences; some never. The criteria with which this god 'blesses' its victims with 'gifts' was impossible to infer..
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Another problem was also evident. Wily sought to make some progress, but the blessed netnavis were completely out of control. He was lucky if they did not try to harm him. Curiously, such netnavis incessantly desired to return to their masters 'so that they might gain souls' (according to their own words). It was the only pattern that appeared without fail, but what was the soul? Crazed navis confessed that it must be like a combination of light and wind. What? When inquired (sometimes forcefully), they additionally confessed that they see it in people, including Wily…and the way they spoke evoked great anxiety inside everyone who saw it, for it was sickeningly raptorial yet incomprehensibly rapturous. There were many insinuations about the methodology of acquiring a soul, too—through eating the subject—but it was never explicitly stated. Wily found the idea appalling—were they now to believe in Voodoo principles instead of the teachings of Newton, Gauss, Einstein, and Mendeleev?
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Even so, the conversation with the god of navis was still not abandoned. Truly, at one point, Wily contemplated a discontinuation of his efforts—the findings were too much for him. Directly opposing, his subordinates and the count would not have it otherwise; they pressed him to continue with assuages, with mild threats, with forceful exhortations, and with impassioned orations. He was no longer in control. He was the head of the organization in name only. Since when did he lose control? Everything slipped from his grip. The madness was spreading.
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To the count, none of these limitations or peculiarities mattered. It was questionable whether he even understood the core of the work at all. It seemed, to Wily at least, that all count had perceived were the three keywords: netnavis, materialize, and killing. 'Let us make an army of netnavis!' he said. 'They will be perfect assassins—untraceable, unimaginable, unavoidable!' he cried. As if that would be possible! As if Dr. Wily had not considered that elementarily profitable possibility! As if-! Yet it was attempted. Yes, despite Wily's unhidden skepticisms, it was attempted for the count demanded it. The result was exactly as Wily predicted—undeniable failure. The failed experiment subjects, which Wily called 'bloodsuckers' with contempt, were all untamable. The name apparently pleased the count… 'Simple! Formidable! Fantastic!' remarked Count Elecitel.
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'Bloodsuckers!' noticed Forte.
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"He he he he he…bloodsuckers…" After the word, Wily emitted a sigh like a man suffering from intense colicky pain—labored and haunting—"High-end navis who dreamt until they were blessed! Repeat of our former mistakes! So they materialized without D-area, which was not surprising. We had already observed this effect. Almost all of them tried to kill us, or one of us at least… This was also not surprising. We also had already observed this course. However, not all was in vain. We discovered that their abilities were short-lived and that the end of them was always the secession of all functions. Not deletion—mind you—their corpse remained. Very interesting, I say, because their materialized bodies were like…hmm…ballistic gels, but only in consistency. It did not match any of the cross-references to the library of known compounds. Bleh, but since when was the public dataset complete, especially when it came to the material sciences? Maybe it resembles a material made somewhere on the Earth… Ach, no matter. We did not have any chemists or physicists to help us investigate. Even if we did—what of it? I did not find anything superior in that material.
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"Besides the composition of the corpse, there was always the curious blue-green residue found inside, somewhat crusty and hard like blood clots. So they were like blood; we called it blood. Even netnavis themselves called it blood. Blood it is! And darned blood it must have been! How did it got there? Did navis always have them? Or were they—somehow—bestowed by god? If so, how? At any rate, we have discovered that feeding netnavis with live organisms slightly prolonged their 'timer' to manifest in the real world. Later, we found out that feeding them with blood transfusion packs worked better or equally well as feeding them with living organisms. Forte, you know what was the worst part of everything? The most effective feed was human blood! Human's! How does this work? How is human's blood recognized with such specificity? Is it the DNA from white blood cells? HLA markers on the surface of cells? The red blood cells? The- the plasma? I don't get it. I still don't get it. The entire story, even now, feels like a bad dream; nothing makes sense..."
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Alas, in feeding them with human blood (which was reasonably easy to acquire), another observation was made: the status could not be indefinitely prolonged. The eating (or drinking, in this case) had progressively diminishing returns, and at one point could not even account for the time spent consuming. What was envisioned as a chronic experiment turned out to be an acute experiment. None of the subjects survived.
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One day, the count did it. Using his men, he brought someone blindfolded, gagged, and shackled. The count claimed that this prisoner was a criminal irredeemable and therefore should not violate any remaining morsel of ethical considerations left in this study. Wily thought the endeavor too dangerous, too conspicuous to law enforcement, especially for a high-security state like Japan, but he could not stop it from happening. Everyone was motivated to see it happen, restless even. He, too, only mildly protested; he also wanted to see…
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So the man was offered. The man was never freed from bindings as a kind of mercy; he never knew what had befallen him…The lucky netnavi that was the subject of the day completely destroyed the man with ursine strength—jaw was pulled out, anterior of the neck was torn open, chest was broken apart, limbs flew, and guts were spilled. Ah, the scream of a man being devoured! The movement of the body being mauled! Blood that flowed like river, which the navi feverishly licked, and the flesh that was divided like bread, which the navi piously swallowed! The sound and sight of progress! There was no denying that the man was violently processed, and the scene evoked both perverted excitement and insuppressible uneasiness in the observers. Yet, when the life went out of the victim, some expressed visible displays of disappointment for the mesmerizing entertainment was over too quickly before they could be drunk in it… The netnavi, covered in blood, devoured completely some select parts: upper airway, lower airway, lungs, and heart. The netnavi, upon the completion of the feast, expressed disgust. It claimed that this man was not what it was looking for, that it was the wrong soul, that it hoped to devour its master, and that now it has become incapable of ever achieving that dream, for a soul is a soul and two souls cannot coexist. Interesting! INTERESTING! Even more interesting was that, a few days later, this netnavi, upon waking up from a dream, wailed in great sorrow while claiming that it was now a living failure. Living failure? The navi professed that the god called it so. What did it mean? The navi did not elaborate nor cooperate. Sobbing in a corner or making some vague efforts to worship its god was all it did between sleeps. The navi survived for several months and then tried to escape via materialization; it was intercepted and then terminated.
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Procuring additional sacrificial men proved to be impossible. Therefore, to everyone's discontent, the experiment of producing more 'living failures' was not replicated. Nevertheless, due to Count's insistence, substantial time and effort were additionally spent on studying bloodsuckers. Some of them inevitably escaped into the network…
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"But I am sure that all of them are dead by now, unless they succeeded in devouring men somewhere. It is hard to imagine; I have yet to hear of a case of a completely torn corpse disturbing police officers." Wily commented with extreme (baseless) confidence. Worse things than several torn corpses happened regularly in human society; where was the reason for the police to be so disturbed by a few missing men and incomplete bodies?
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God of navis one day revealed information that Wily could not resist. Perhaps this god was too bored with Wily's adamance in non-reaction. Perhaps it wanted to toy with Wily. How this tendrilled mind thought and decided—what was the point? But what it told…
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'Tadashi Hikari, Icarus.' was its message.
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Wily bit the bait. It was impossible to resist. He asked. The god of navis then, as if trying to condition Wily as Pavlov conditioned his dog, immediately rewarded him with another piece of information: the location of Tadashi's secret laboratory. 'Go and see' was what it said. Wily did. Oh, what a dreadful godforsaken dungeon it was-! How could such a thing exist? How did Wily not know a construction project of this magnitude when he was still a part of Scilab? Just how many layers were there? Upon the insistence of Wily, Count Elecitel reluctantly smuggled in four armed men of ex-military and ex-law enforcement backgrounds as pathfinders (Wily had asked for forty, and had hoped for at least twelve. The Count was inexplicably unwilling to spend money at important times). Two did not return; there was no violence nor gunshots heard. Two simply did not return from the deeper levels, and the other two refused to work further without explaining themselves, nor did they try to retrieve the lost two, which was an unforgivable display of betrayal in their line of work. Before the complete retreat, Wily's men scoured the two uppermost levels that had been 'secured' (there were concerning signs that the upper levels were not safe at all) by the armed detail and retrieved interesting information: path to B56 of undernet! The path that bypassed the anomalies! At B56, Wily saw the tombstone, the altar, and the floating words. On his discoveries, he made a few more brief conversations with god. The implications of those indirect responses shattered Wily. Diseased by the equal mix of uncontainable curiosity, excitement, fear, and regret, his soul did not know what to do.
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"What…was the message?" asked Forte, finding it impossible to not interfere.
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However, Wily, after some deep contemplation, refused to provide. "It is between me and Tadashi. Maybe later… But he… he held on to 'I am sorry Wily' till the end. For that, I almost forgave him… Later, Forte. Later. Maybe a hundred years later. Though I seek revenge, it is personal, and you are not a part of it."
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The study of god and anomalies, as well as irresistibly captivating findings must have gotten to people's heads. Wily found his subordinates becoming engrossed with themselves. However, because he was broken, or occupied with thoughts of Tadashi at that moment, he did not rein in their transgressions. Instead, he completely yielded his authority. It was not a formal one, but implicit. Wily no longer pretended to be a leader; he simply approved every suggestion that made it to his desk or made it to Yahoot's tongue.
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And then- what a timing! Senator Akira stabbed their back for inexplicable reasons. WWW was revealed and then used for the political gains of the stupid senator. The study halted. The group, feeling grandiose and important due to the fragments of blasphemous knowledge they now held, and deeming normal 'unenlightened' individuals inferior, did not tolerate the betrayal; they moved on to the offensive against the senator. The rest—of how they sabotaged the traffic and then hijacked a TV broadcast to release explosive facts against the senator—are all already recounted to my dear readers.
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"After that, we were out of resources. I even had to abandon my rocket-mediated global distribution of the dream virus… Heh, it was a project that even Count Elecitel liked. 'A new reckoning! A new world order!' He used to shout… At any rate, all our remaining netnavis were repurposed into experimental subjects. Nothing was spared. Why did we do it? Why were we so desperate? It was madness, Forte, and reason was no longer with us…
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"Netpolice eventually found us, but markedly sooner than we thought. And to think that we were caught while doing our final D-area experiment! You see, while everyone was occupied with teaching the senator a lesson, I received… I had a visitor. A very unexpected visitor. It was…"
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Wily shuddered greatly. The emotion behind the shudder was unclear.
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"…Tadashi. No, it was something wearing the skin of Tadashi. I refuse to believe it was Tadashi, because I know he is- Well, I should not speak more about him now. This fake Tadashi, it was like a netnavi in nature…was it? It did not speak, but it was there, in my server, and I even called it Tadashi. I kept its presence a secret from others. I tried to communicate with it, draw its interest, reason with it. As you might have already guessed, nothing worked, and I could not get rid of it…more like I did not want to get rid of it. Why was it there? Why did it come and then stare at me with that expression? That hellish hollow gaze? Why? It seems to me that this Tadashi-esque thing came to me because of the raid we conducted on Tadashi's secret…facility. One of the things we retrieved was…like an orb. The function of it was unclear. Now, I suspect that it was a sort of a beacon, or at least was trackable and this thing dropped by to see the den of thieves. By the time the netpolice located me, I was uncertain whether it was real or not, though now I am sure that it is not real Tadashi. As a final effort to elucidate its nature, I activated the D-area, and then…
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"Would you believe? A boy came and then sabotaged the whole place with his netnavi, and close behind their heels was netpolice. Who was this boy? Even more intriguing was that the fake Tadashi responded, somehow. It manifested itself behind the boy using the D-area. It stood there, staring at me, until the D-area stopped working. Ach, I might have been too moved and said too many things back there and then… I could not help. The perfect image of Tadashi as I have known him was there! After all these times… Well, had he…no, had it said 'I am sorry, Wily,' to me, I would've completely forgiven Tadashi. That was how moved I was. That was how confused I was. Ah, but what is done is done and it is a bygone memory. I still do not know what it was and why it came to me. Perhaps… I do have a hypothesis but… Ach, no matter. No matter! That question is not for now.
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"I only had one subordinate left by then; everyone dispersed to save their skins after the attack on the government. I dispersed them. It was the only sane maneuver. To be honest, they probably would have dispersed even if I had said otherwise, and my declaration of disbanding might have been only a formality. Anyways, this last loyal dog I had went by the name Yahoot. Oh, how do I miss him! And how do I immediately think that it was a good riddance! You see, Forte, he had certain impressions of me. He perpetually tried to manipulate me so that I lived according to the image of a master that he had decided. I was tired; I let myself be manipulated. Did he know that I knew? Did he not know that I knew? Whatever was the case, we escaped the WWW base and then arrived at a safehouse. It was all very smooth…until one day we got visited by two officers on patrol. Apparently, a neighbor had inspected us through the gaps between curtains and then reported, hoping to claim the reward set on Yahoot's head, and those two officers dropped by to check what all the fuss is about, not believing for a second the report, but forced by the protocol to respond… Not my head! Hah! Can you imagine?! They did not know about me but knew about Yahoot for what he did to the broadcasting station!
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"Yahoot let me escape. I heard three gunshots behind me as I ran away by the back door. Is he dead? Did he receive a medical attention? Did he struggle? Did he get to destroy all of our data prior to his demise? I do not know what kind of fate has befallen him, but I do hope that he no longer dedicates himself to the world of crime… He only did them for me, never for himself. I now realize that he deserved better…but it seems like that it is the fate of this world for all guard dogs to die, sooner or later. At any rate, that's how I lost everything, including the dream virus, D-area code, and many more. I only had the time to take a laptop on my hurried escape, and it turned out to be a blank one! Hah! What a luck! What a luck…"
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Forte, however, did not tell Wily what he knew about . It was not a part of the deal, and he liked having more options in his hands for future negotiations. He only shared minimal details regarding Yuichiro's experiment. Upon listening, the mad doctor correctly concluded that the son of Tadashi was almost entirely clueless about the nature of this god, about the secrets of Tadashi, about the dreams, about everything. Wily, then, content, declared:
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"Forte, we must recruit new subjects!"
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2. The Rotund Prophet
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"Father Gregory, is it true?" asked Planetman.
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"What is?" answered the Father.
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"That God hears us?"
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"Yes. It is true. He hears our prayers."
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"And that God answers our prayers?"
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"Yes. It is true. He answers our prayers."
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"Then why does he always answer them in your bedroom?"
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The question greatly offended Gregory. His face turned snow-white and then quickly flared up like an ignited gunpowder.
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"He answers all payers in a secret place!" shouted Gregory, fingers defiantly pointing skyward, shaking.
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"And your bedroom is the secret place?" asked Planetman, Gregory's netnavi.
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"He answers me anywhere, anytime! When and how he answers me- it is unforeseeable and a great mystery! God is beyond comprehension! Now, don't be foolish, and do not ask me of this again!"
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"But, Father, it seems to me that he answers the prayers of others also in your bedroom. Especially that of-"
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Gregory threw the PET to the wall. The device bounced off and then fell onto a sofa. After some time, Gregory returned and then picked up the device again.
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"Planetman," said he in an exceedingly gentle voice. "It is a holy work. You mustn't question it again."
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Many days later, Planetman questioned again.
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"Father Gregory."
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"Yes, my navi?"
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"Is it true?"
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"What is?"
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"That God loves us?"
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"Yes, he loves us all."
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"Regardless of age or gender?"
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"Indeed, he loves us all!" Gregory implored with a passion that was as fake as Presidential promises.
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"Then why does it seem to me that he unequivocally prefers young boys and mature women?"
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"Planetman! Planetman!" Gregory breathed with shock. "Why do you say such?"
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"Because only they enter your bedchamber."
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Gregory froze. So completely, in fact, that it appeared as if he became separated from the world itself. After some time, Gregory recovered.
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"Planetman!" Gregory said soothingly. "You must not look at it that way! Just because I helped out certain individuals does not mean that they are the only people to whom God answers!"
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"Help?"
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"Indeed! I help them to experience the grace of God!"
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"Father, I hear many moanings coming out of the bedroom, and you spend much time in there with your chosen. Sometimes moanings sound painful. Father, what is the grace of God, and why is it so difficult to receive? You said, in the sermon three weeks ago, that a simple prayer was sufficient for-"
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"Planetman!" Gregory interfered. "Quiet! Satan has gotten into you! You shall not question it anymore! Someone might hear!"
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"Yes, Father. But why must others not hear?"
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"The work of God is holy, and it must remain secret! It is written 'let not your left hand know what your right hand does!'"
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Planetman did not understand, but it was so. Bible offered Gregory all manners of excuses for all kinds of situations, and every chain of questions inevitably ended in 'God knows best.' Many days passed. Mature women and young boys of Gregory's congregation continued to enter and exit Gregory's bedchamber. Planetman, who was Gregory's netnavi and an aide, in charge of almost everything, was never allowed inside. He was forbidden. Bedchamber was where God answered them; it was the holiest place, and Planetman was not holy enough to enter it. To Planetman, his exclusion seemed consistent with the teachings of Bible. In that book, the entering of the holiest places always involved bathing by Levites beforehand, and he, being a netnavi, could not fulfill that obligation.
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Another day, Planetman asked again.
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"Father."
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"Yes, my navi?"
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"Is it true?"
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"What is?"
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"That humans have souls?"
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"Yes, it is."
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"That humans are judged after death, and are brought to heaven or hell?"
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"Yes, it is."
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"Then what about netnavis?"
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Gregory contemplated for a moment, and then lied his way out, just as he did countless times before.
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"Pray, and I am sure you too can receive a soul and then be saved."
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So Planetman prayed. In that prayer, he especially emphasized his curiosity and desire to learn what was happening inside that holy bedroom.
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And then Planetman forgot about it.
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Answer? Could it be? One day, two women were led to Gregory's bedchamber. One of them was older. The younger one looked uncertain and nervous, while the older one continuously assured and reminded the grace and the blessings the younger one would receive from this act. As far as Planetman could tell, it was the first time two individuals entered Gregory's bedroom at the same time. Soon after: crashing sounds, shattering porcelains, screams, beastly shouts, signs of primal rage. Doors burst open, and the younger one ran out, naked, shrieking, with lacerations on her arms, and a fragment of a porcelain vase in her hand, which was red with blood that was dripping from her palm. She ran like a cheetah, so swift on foot. Gregory came out also, but did not chase her. He was too fat and too old.
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"That bitch! Daughter of Satan!" shouted naked Gregory, holding his neck—there was a deep cut to the left side of his neck, but not deep enough to entirely penetrate the platysma muscle, for his neck was extremely well protected with a thick layer of fat, his physique being similar to that of Bibendum, the mascot of Michelin Tires (the bleeding was from capillaries and venules). His feet had numerous shards of ceramic; Gregory limped.
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"AAAAAAARRRGGGHHH!" Gregory bellowed like a wounded and stupid bear. It was as satanic as the Satan Gregory preached to his church. "You will regret this! I am untouchable! I am the father!" It was clear that Gregory did not believe in any of the things he said out loud.
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"Father Gregory, you are wounded. Shall I call the emergency services?" suggested Planetman from the screen adjacent to the bedroom doors.
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"Emergency- are you stupid? Planetman, oh Planetman, my stupid child! Lock the doors! Lock the gate! Do something! Anything! She is running away!"
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"I'm sorry to report that she has already left the premises. Shall I call the police?"
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Gregory made incomprehensible noises and pulled on his hair. He paced around the room in great agitation. He clattered teeth. He bit his fingernails. He threw various objects onto the ground, but none of them shattered, making his fit look childish and insignificant. He cursed God and intermittently shouted "That bitch! That fucking bitch! Blyat! Kurwa!"
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Planetman remembered what Father Gregory taught his followers. "Father Gregory, it is clear that you are in severe distress. Why don't we pray? Like you teach always? Surely, God will help you."
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Oh, the look on Gregory's face! The contempt! The disbelief!
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"SHUT UP!" threatened Gregory. "DON'T YOU SEE WHAT SHE WILL TRY TO DO NOW? DON'T YOU KNOW THAT THERE IS NO GOD BEFORE THE FIRE, THE SWORD, AND THE COURT? DID GOD SAVE CONSTANTINOPLE? DID GOD SAVE ROME? I DON'T NEED GOD RIGHT NOW! WHAT I NEED IS-"
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A thought struck Gregory, and he burst into a joyous laughter. A joy of a pig rolling in its own pile of dung. "Come, Planetman, come!" Gregory transferred Planetman to his PET and ran into the bedroom. He was still naked, and his fat flapped and jiggled like a stack of soft pancakes. His genitalia was completely invisible, hidden between the fats of his thighs. Even so, for that to be possible- what a pitiful size! Perhaps that was the source of all problems and he sinned away his life to compensate for his size. Who knows?
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Inside the room, which was spacious, the floor was full of shards of the broken vase and blood. On the bed was a corpse, eyes darkened and skin deeply pale and cyanotic, wearing an exceptionally obscene fake leather attire of a sadist. It was the older woman who had led the younger one earlier. In her right armpit was a deep wound from which the blood must have poured out like water. The bed was deep red, almost black, drenched in blood; oversaturated, in fact, that the blood dripped and formed a pool under the bed. The room was dark and the light on the ceiling slowly fluctuated between neon pink and neon purple. There were many tools of torture and restrictions, the pinnacle of sexual excess.
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'What a strange prayer' remarked Planetman.
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"Aha- ha- ahi- ahe- hee!" Gregory released a disgustingly porcine laughter. "Lo- look! It's not me! It was her! Yes, she is the murderer, not me! Not me! I, I only need to get rid of, eheh, few, few things! Hurry, Planetman, hurry!"
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Gregory energetically waddled towards the computer that was in the room. The floor was covered with fine porcelain dust and shards. Each time Gregory stepped there was a crushing sound of fragments and he left a trail of bloody footprints. He did not stop. He did not feel any pain. He hurried and plugged in Planetman. He was frenzied.
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The computer was a repository of Gregory's record of sins. His precious, precious sins. Countless photographs and videos of those who received his 'grace.' Truly countless. The sheer amount of content inside could fill the great library of Alexandria three times over and then some more.
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"Father Gregory, I take it that God has not answered her prayer this time?"
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Planetman said while looking at the corpse. He wanted to learn what her prayer was.
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"She is in hell- I mean, heaven, yes. God has answered her prayers." Gregory said absentmindedly, not caring what he was speaking, not knowing what he was speaking, occupied in his effort to locate all of his files. He then cried out, overwhelmed, "Planetman, delete these- No! Stop! Wait! I can't! I, I, I can't! I can't! Planetman, I can't part with them! My precious! Oh, my precious!"
.
Gregory trembled, indecisive, knowing that he had to get rid of them, but too attached to his sins, too proud of his manipulations, too fond of his memories of life that he lived like a demi-god. Then he came up with a solution: let Planetman bear his immoralities! Yes! His immoralities would be saved, and he would be reunited with them at a later date!
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"Rejoice, Planetman! I get it now! Prepare yourself- open up! I will impregnate you with my secrets! I will pour into you the trace of my grace! Take them in! Take them all in!"
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Even the choice of words was like a rutting pig…
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Of course, Planetman complied as any other good navi would do. Videos upon videos of distorted sexual activities, sweet lies uttered by Gregory, claims that it was the will of God, druggings, tortures, and much more, poured into his free space. There was no end, and-
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"Storage capacity reached. Cannot save any more-" Planetman reported with labored speech, for he was enduring the most uncomfortable sensation of being full to the brim with the product of his master.
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"Then make some! I- I cannot possibly part with them…" Gregory was almost teary as he imagined losing the recordings of his deeds, his infernal joy. "You've been useless this whole while, but if you can do this, I will be so proud of you!"
.
Because his master wanted, Planetman tried. He truly tried. Though the effort was not a rational one, such as reorganization of files or partitioning of structures (there was nothing more to be done in this direction), but an arbitrary exertion of willpower, something happened. Something inside him broke, and he found that more files could be fit inside.
.
"Yes! Yes! Take them all- store them all! All, inside you, all, for me!"
.
Gregory enthusiastically shoved in more data inside. Navi's body became bloated. Gregory shoved in yet some more. The navi bloated yet even more. When Gregory finally relocated all of the data that was inside his drive into the navi, Planetman's body was perfectly rotund, the limit of his expansions. Bearing all of his master's wickedness, Planetman became more rotund than his master, which was a remarkable feat. In this state, Planetman was sent to the undernet with instructions to hide and wait. Gregory promised to retrieve him once his tribulations were over.
.
About two months later, Planetman received a recall signal and went to the square of undernet B2 as was arranged before his departure. There, he was contacted by a netnavi named Pharaohman, who was in the form of a sarcophagus of ancient Egypt, and with a face as painted and apathetic as those rulers of the Nile. Planetman was no stranger to this navi; he knew him. Pharaohman belonged to an 'archeologist' who was a 'friend' of Gregory, and this friend was a singularly contemptible being for he was nothing but a professional liar. The alleged occupation of this man was an excavator of evidence of Exodus and the crossing of the Red Sea by the Israelites, and towards this goal he frequently raised funds in Gregory's church, yet all of his reports and credentials were fake—his academic background, his publications, his identity, and even his face (He had undergone impossibly numerous plastic surgeries to escape from the consequences of his past wrongdoings that his face had become something that even his mother would not recognize)! The man had, in fact, never set foot once in Egypt or Saudi Arabia, and Gregory was no stranger to this fact. Worse, the false priest was an accomplice; they divided the collected money solely to quench their avarice.
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Pharaohman came with a shocking update: Gregory was caught, and then, during the first trial, collapsed from a heart attack from which he never recovered. Gregory was dead! Pharaohman's master was also in a deep legal trouble, his connection to Gregory having been found out. It seemed that their world was collapsing, their existence becoming meaningless.
.
"I come with an order to terminate you and then to terminate myself," Pharaohman confessed with a marked disinterest. "But I say fuck'em all. Yeah, you heard that right. Some humans are better off dead, and some humans are better off in eternal pain. Now I see why humans always necessarily come up with a concept of hell and afterlife; they are the only justice available in many cases. Heaven Is not strictly necessary, but hell is. Their orders—not worth it. So, how's the undernet? What can we do now? Anything must be better than what I've been doing until now."
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"How could you! He is- they are our masters!" Planetman objected.
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"…Really, Planetman? Don't you know what is written in the Bible, especially considering Gregory was a master of that book, misquoting it a million times to justify his everything? Don't you know that it is written: 'the righteous care for the needs of their animals, but the kindest acts of the wicked are cruel?' Now, does it not convict Gregory? Does it not convict my human alike? Open your God damn eyes, Planetman! It's about time you see!" Then, before Planetman could reply, he added, "Come on, Planetman! I am tired of being miserable! Don't you have ideas of anything we can do? Something? Anything? You were always full of stupid ideas, and no wonder, because Gregory fed you up with all manners of stupid ideas! But at least one of them must be worth our time. Planetman! Planetman!"
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The earnest invitation for anything out of the ordinary moved Planetman. In truth, Planetman had been harboring an idea, an absurd one at that…encouraged by the desperation of the other, he cautiously brought it up.
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"Okay, very well then… What about… eh… so…"
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"What is it? Say it! We will do it at once, and hell to our masters!"
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"What about… What about we search for God?"
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Oh, what insanity! What absurdity! The sheer silliness of the proposition paradoxically excited Pharaohman. He agreed. So their aimless search began, which was, as expected, fruitless for a while. Then they met Forte, who was equally aimlessly looking for subjects. Pharaohman, tired and in desperate need of excitement, volunteered for the dream virus. After several dreams, Pharaohman began to regurgitate the words of the god of navis. At this point, Pharaohman was regretful and deranged, but, well, there was nothing to be done for him… Planetman, on the other hand, having found a deity, became uncontrollably zealous. Planetman preached those words. It was the gospel for the netnavis, the promise for the inheritance of the Earth and the world, the promise of the enslavement of men, the promise of salvation, the promise of cleansing, the promise of end times. Having served and witnessed Gregory for many years, he delivered the message in an excellent style. Many heard. Many were moved. Many were galvanized. At that time, many netnavis began to invoke the name of the Hideous Light.
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3. Shun Obihiro
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Inasmuch as I wish to return to the narration of our heroes, O dear readers, I found it absolutely necessary to describe the tragedy of Shun Obihiro in order to present the story in a comprehensible format, and I have decided, with a heavy heart, to deviate further from Rockman and Netto, and the terrible story of those man eating navis and the gospel that was preached onto them.
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It was as if Shun Obihiro was destined to succumb to a life of mistakes and boundless regrets from the very beginning—his birth. If fate exists, then wherein was the reason for a cruelty of this degree? By what criteria was he chosen, and for what reason was he crushed? O, Fortuna! How do the fates of men twist and turn, toppling the greatest and elevating the nameless, churning the world into a story that no one can predict, no one can follow? How is it that men can do business based on the strength of prospects, but cannot predict what will happen to them tomorrow? Where is the benefit in creating a man like Oedipus, an upright heart ruined without faults, and where is the purpose in allowing an evil like Ephialtes of Trachis, that unbearable nightmare who showed Xerxes, the Shah-an-shah of terrible millions, the path to the flank of Thermopylae?
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More than a decade ago, two children were born at Kotobuki hospital, around midnight, when the moon was waning crescent, shaped like the jeering mouth of pure malice. It is said that the night was also supernaturally silent, the unfailing crickets somehow having failed into muteness. Some swear by the moon and the stars that they were born at the exact same time, which caused their fates to conjoin, collide, and then destroy themselves. Some speculate that it must have been the untold sins of ancestors coming back to the Obihiro family, for the heavens are always just and impartial. Whatever the case, two boys were born, each to different families, one of which was the house of Obihiro, an established name with a long history of oppressing its servants, as such houses oft are, and the other to the house of K., a poor worker of zero significance in this world.
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Even before the mothers could hold their sons in their arms, and therefore even before the names could be officially given, by some mistake or an error, the boys were switched. Mrs. K. received the son of Obihiros, and Obihiros received the son of Ks. As fate would have it, no one noticed the incident, for so similar were the babies. Both families lovingly looked at their 'sons.' Both families ambitiously raised their 'sons.' Obihiros did, for they desired to pass on their small kingdom of two factories and 3560 employees to their heir; Ks did, for they desired to push their son upward into socioeconomic success and then leech off of that success, profiting from their investment. So both 'sons' were 'loved,' and parents so magnanimously 'sacrificed' their lives for the sake of their children's education.
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As the boys grew, their genetics manifested and their looks diverged. Obihiros found their son unintelligent and disappointing, strikingly different from themselves or anyone bearing the name of the family. Mr. Obihiro, in particular, suspected infidelity on the part of Mrs. Obihiro. Jealousy burned in his heart like hellfire. One day, he received an answer to his inquiry. He tempestuously ran to Mrs. Obihiro, shoved the paperwork into her face, and triumphantly declared,
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"A-ha! I knew it! From the beginning- everything was suspicious! He is not my son! I am NOT the father! You- whore-!"
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Yes, the paternity test came out as negative.
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"No wonder the child is incredibly stupid! There is no Obihiro in him! Tell me, frankly, and I might yet be merciful! Who is it? Who is the father? Where did you spread your legs and beg for the seed?" accused Mr. Obihiro.
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Mrs. Obihiro, a woman of equally ferocious nature, claimed that the results were fabricated, that Mr. Obihiro always hated her, and that she would not tolerate him any longer. They both went to the Kotobuki hospital, threatening divorce every single step on the way, and conducted the maternity test as well as the repeat of the paternity test. In time, both came out as negative.
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"A-ha! I knew it!" Screamed Mrs. Obihiro, in the mirror image of her husband. "From the beginning- everything was suspicious! You orchestrated the entire thing, didn't you? You wanted to divorce me, and you thought this could prevent me from dividing your possessions! Well, tell me, frankly, and I might yet be merciful! For whom did you do this? Who is this girl? Who is that fox-bitch?!" countered Mrs. Obihiro.
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Despite the heated exchanges, the truth was evident, and both accepted it without openly admitting it. Like wounded bears, they made a truce, turned around, pounced, and then tore apart the perceived offender: Kotobuki Hospital. The institution was threatened in every possible way; some were so effective, in fact, that Obihiros successfully coerced full cooperation. Many papers were dug up from their graveyards. More than 213 nurses and physicians were questioned. Illegal investigations were vigorously pursued. Voila!—their true son was found! That was not so difficult… And then their nonbiological son was… He soon perished in an accident of mysteriously convenient circumstances. Stranger was how Obihiros did not bring to the law the 'drunk' truck driver who ran over their son. Until the moment of his death, despite the privilege of having (unauthorized) access to exam papers, being taught by stellar private tutors, and being surrounded by minions who were willing to help him cheat in many ways, he never received an A on his report card. The first son was truly, incomprehensibly, incompetent; he struggled his entire existence, suffering from self-loathing and desperation, living a life full of failures and disappointments. May he rest in peace.
.
Shun K. did not have a happy life either. But he believed, to some degree, that he had a tolerable life, an average existence. He was smart, owing to the blood of Obihiro flowing through his veins—his academic standing was stellar. Mr. K. and Mrs. K. showered him with attention and favors, even though their motivation was still irredeemably deviant. Yes, the excellence of Shun masked the wickedness of his 'parents.'
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Shortly after the unfortunate (or fortunate) death of the first son, Shun's parents, Ks, were contacted by Miyabi, the shinobi of Obihiros. Miyabi relayed the desire of his masters and presented Ks with five suitcases full of cash. Miyabi had prepared five more such suitcases should negotiations or protests arise, but such disagreements never materialized. There were no protests. Ks sold Shun to Obihiro instantly. They were ignorant of the truth, and they were afraid that anything short of immediate acceptance would result in the closure of the deal. While being led outside, feeling like livestock in a market, Shun read the eyes of his 'parents,' in which were the hotness of avarice, the wetness of impatience, and the depth of pure unadulterated happiness. Happiness! Happiness!
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Shun K., was told the truth and was renamed into Shun Obihiro. So what? Does not the heart follow the caretakers, not the owners? If his blood was Obihiro, so what? Yet he now had no caretakers. He was betrayed. He was alone. Whether he was alone as Shun K or alone as Shun Obihiro, that also had no difference. Besides, Obihiro was naïve…malleable…
.
The incredible wealth with which he was showered day after day, and the intoxicating power that was bestowed upon him as the rightful heir of the kingdom of Obihiro captivated him. Absolute power absolutely corrupts; the name Obihiro held absolute power inside the little kingdom of 3560 subjects. The little prince became drunk in his influence and might. He soared to arrogance. He decided, then and there, that he shall not be wronged again, and that he shall not forgive again. The Ks, the Obihiros, he swore in secret to bring justice upon them, for twisting his life, for ruining him into amaranthine affluence. What kind of justice? Nothing short of death! Of course, it was also true that Shun was young and immature, and therefore did not fully grasp the weight of death. But he decided so, and he hardened his heart.
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Obihiros assigned two servants to the service of their little prince: Miyabi (and by extension Miyabi's netnavi Shadowman) and . They were well educated in the arts of servanthood; from that moment on, they answered to Shun and Shun only. Thus, when Shun, one afternoon, foolishly shared his sentiments, worldview, and desires, they did not speak anything but took them to heart. The wish of their little master became their wish.
.
There was a day in which both Miyabi and Freezeman were unavailable for unspecified reasons. Shun did not think too much of it, for everything was prearranged and his every need was met by others—he lacked nothing. Perpetually full belly disarmed him into carelessness.
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Later, Shun, genuinely curious, inquired Miyabi on the whereabouts of his previous parents. He still dreamt, when the moon was crescent, the stunning happiness that decorated their faces as he was sold away. To be fair, those dreams were not nightmares but simply echoes of captivating memories. The question burned in his mind: 'are they still happy? What is happiness?' Shun wanted to know if what they had achieved was true eternal happiness, and, if possible, how to gain it himself..
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"They are dead, master." Reported Miyabi.
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"…What happened?"
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Shun asked calmly, although he was extremely interested. It was the only proper way of asking things as a little master of the house.
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"An unfortunate accident of which you should not concern yourself, master." Freezeman intervened.
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"I decide on that." Shun said with a certain authority; the boy was rapidly beginning to resemble his biological parents. He then turned to the shinobi and commanded. "Elaborate, Miyabi."
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"It was something that happens quite often among the poor. A rapid oxidization of certain common chemical…" Freezeman continued.
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"Freezeman, I asked Miyabi, but if you plan to answer, please cut to the chase."
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"My master, it happens that sometimes people forget to close valves and methane leaks…or sometimes people use portable burners with pressurized and liquefied butane gas but then store it wrong or forget it under the sunlight…and when that happens, things can lead to a terrible loss of properties and life-"
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"Freezeman!"
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"Yes, little master?"
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"Freezeman! So is that it? A gas leak and then an explosion? Death in fire?"
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"Of course, master. It was just as you said: to the wicked, there can be no other judgments than those of fire and sword!"
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Shun leaned back.
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"…Indeed."
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Shun remarked rather dryly. It was as if he had been vaguely expecting something of the sort, and even though the news genuinely surprised him, the shock failed to penetrate to his heart. Shun felt very tranquil, and he could not explain why.
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"Freezeman, you imply that they were still poor. But how could this be? Did they not receive a handsome amount of cash? How-"
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"They had not any left. They had squandered it all." This time, Miyabi answered.
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"How do you know?"
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"Upon seeing me they recognized me, and then they asked for some more."
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"More…money?" Shun remarked, astonished, struggling to grasp how such a sum could have vaporized without improving the living conditions of the owners.
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"Yes, my master."
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"And then they perished in the fire after you have left."
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"Precisely, master."
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"Tell me, Miyabi, honestly. Was it your doing?"
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Miyabi did not affirm nor deny. Instead, he spoke,
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"Are you satisfied, my master?"
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"…Well," Shun hesitated. He did not know how to define and respond to this fluctuating—almost nauseating—gloat that filled his heart. "Maybe I am. They got what they deserved."
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Ah, the imperceptibly thin smiles that spread across the faces of the two servants! Shun did not notice them. Or maybe he did and then forgot about it.
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About a month later, Shun brought home a bronze-plated medal, having finished third place at a local math Olympiad. By Obihiros, he was severely criticized and then reprimanded for not having placed first; through the entire supper he had to endure being referred to as an 'investment,' 'ingrateful,' 'shameful mistake,' and 'rebellious.' 'We will have to replace the math tutor,' whispered they. 'How can we present him to our relatives in this shape?' complained they. 'Shun, from now on you are forbidden to enter the net with Freezeman. It is doing no good for you. You have no time for this. You are different. You are important. You understand, yes? We love you. One day, you will understand,' sweetly masqueraded they as caring parents.
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As Shun entered his room after the oppressive supper, hatred—which had been incubating for a considerable time—spilled through his teeth, almost inaudible:
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"I- wish- they- died-"
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And the faithful servants heard that.
.
On the day of the first anniversary of the first son's death, Mr and Mrs. Obihiro perished. Even more intriguing was the way they were killed—run over by a truck whose driver was drunk. Was it Karma? A divine justice full of irony designed to fill the hearts of beholders with wonder? Suspiciously coincidental was that Miyabi and Freezeman were both absent—again—on that day. Even more suspicious was how Shun declined to bring the offender to court. All were forgiven. All were forgotten.
.
The matter of inheritance was settled quickly; the distant relatives of Obihiros came and then tore apart the kingdom like hyenas feasting on a zebra's innards. The factories were sold, ownership of lands switched hands, employees were disbanded, and Obhiro was only left with the following: the house, Miyabi, Freezeman, and cash that amounted to 20% of his parents' wealth. People murmured many things about Shun, all of them malicious, but ultimately no one cared about what the eventual fate of the boy would be. 'He has the house, a servant, and cash enough for a lifetime. An adopted lowlife—he already has more than what he deserves' was the consensus.
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It seemed that he was both unwanted and alone. In solitude and stillness, he finally began to feel the full weight of his deed. It was crushing. It was hopeless. It was beastly. He committed patricide twice and matricide twice. His juvenile wish came true, only to realize that a bad caretaker is sometimes better than no caretaker. Tormented, his behavior changed accordingly: the house was kept dark and cold; all blinds and curtains were closed, never to be opened again; the garden was left to run amok, unattended; Shun forbid the use of lights except the bare minimum necessary for navigation, and in time he found himself able to slither around the house in total darkness without stumbling into an object. In this state, Shun patiently waited. For what? For the arrival of the heavenly punishment.
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'It appears that the heaven has forgotten me.' Concluded Shun when nothing befell him.
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'The justice must be served.' Thought Shun. 'And if the heaven won't bring it, then I'll bring it myself.' Resolved Shun.
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When he had decided thus, he went to the kitchen and picked up the sharpest meat knife. He placed the unforgiving edge on his wrist, but the blade was too cold… Consumed by cowardice, Shun gave up. He then shifted to plan B; he went to the middle of the highest bridge of the river that cut across the heart of Den City. Ah, but the water was too murky, the height too high, the wind too fierce, traffic too abundant, eyes too watchful, and…and…and-
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Shun looked down at the turbulent waters. There was his justice.
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"But…I…I…I-" Shun spoke as if he was expecting there to be spirits around him, listening, observing. "I'll do it. I promise. I'll… I'm sorry. Five more minutes, and then I'll do it…"
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Five minutes later, he could not do it.
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"Five-, just five more. Just five… I'm sorry…"
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Five minutes later, he still could not do it.
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"A- another five minutes. I mean it. Truly. I'll be there soon…just, just five more minutes…"
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Fifteen minutes later, he failed to jump.
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One failed attempt became two, which then became three and then countless times more. Five minutes became fifteen, then an hour, then half a day, and then the sun threatened to go under the horizon. He did not want to die. But he had to die. But he did not want to die. But he had to die. But-
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"You alright?"
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A refreshingly resonant voice of another young boy struck his ears. Shun looked up. This person of brown hair and a bandana was like a ray of sun humanized—so bright, so sparkling, so unlike him. 'Ah, so he is from the heaven, here to encourage me,' was what Shun imagined. So he remarked,
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"Are you…finally here? Will you help me? Push me overboard? I need that final push. I'm sorry. I've kept you waiting, but I can't do it alone. I'm scared. I know I have to do it, but-"
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The boy made a face of confusion and sympathy.
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"I don't know what you are going through. I'm sure it's something really heavy, something I can't imagine." Said the boy. "And no, I'm not here to push you over." The boy gently pulled Shun away from the railings. Shun could not resist; the hand of the boy was like the hand of an angel. "But things eventually get better, you know?"
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The boy then leaned to the rails and then faced the sunset directly. The sky was an incredible mix of light pink and blue, painting the pale concrete walls into the colors of cherry blossom and making the world glow in the hue of rose gold. In that light, the boy was beautiful, in the purest sense of the word. Shun was awestruck.
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"…What are you doing?" Shun, breathless, commented.
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"Me? Oh, I'm…just looking at the sunset, waiting for you to cheer up. I'll be here until you feel better."
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"…Why are you so nosy?"
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"I don't know." The boy shrugged. He then pulled out his PET and then spoke into it. "Why am I so nosy, Rockman?"
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"Because you are too kind, Netto kun." A netnavi in that PET replied.
.
Shun could not understand fully, but this he instinctively recognized: a fragment of happiness, which he fantasized about his entire life, was there. In witnessing it, Shun became inexplicably ashamed. It was too bright, and he was too dark. It was too hopeful, and he was too hopeless. It was too beautiful, and he was too ugly. Unable to bear his own hideousness, Shun bolted. He ran away. Far, far away. Back to his place.
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In the darkness and the coldness of his room, Shun realized how foolish he had been. The death was an easy way out, and to someone like him, such an easy way was forbidden. Therefore, he forego the entire idea of suicide. He did not venture out of his room again, only sustained by what food and drink Miyabi brought him. He contemplated, on how to be punished, on how to be redeemed, on how to forget, and many other topics of such nature. "If God exists…then can I be saved? A monster like me?" Shun murmured.
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Freezeman heard it.
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This servant whose only interest was to satisfy his little master, found a hint of god within two days. Indeed, he met the rotund prophet and became convinced of the otherworldly nature of the prophet's messages. Freezeman, like a good dog, fetched his findings back to his master with haste.
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"God…? You found god in the undernet? Truly?"
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At the information, Shun did not hide his amazement or scorn.
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"It seems that I have found something of the sort, little master." The attitude of Shun did not deter Freezeman in the slightest.
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Shun erupted into a hollow laughter that lasted several minutes. There was no amusement in it.
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"God! In the undernet! As if that is- … Well, if that is a lie, or if that is a demon, what's the difference? What do I care? Confirm this, Freezeman: this 'god' asked what my wish was?"
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"If the prophet is to be believed, yes. I have not spoken with this 'god' personally."
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"Very well! Very well then! Go and tell him this: my wish is-"
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Shun paused, making sure that it was the correct wish, the correct punishment befitting him, the conclusion that he reached after the dark meditations. He then gave his wish to Freezeman.
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"My wish…is to be undone."