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In the six weeks that he had known him, Answer had come to four different realizations about one Mr. Chipp Zanuff.
One: There was a fistful of marbles rattling around in the place where his brain was supposed to be
Two: Based on his headstrong nature and lack of social graces, he irrefutably had to have been raised by wild dogs
Three: The man could not shut his trap to save his life
And Four…the most annoying, the one single reason that Answer hadn’t reduced him to a chunky red stain on the ground, was that he was, admittedly, a half-decent ninja.
Not that he knew much about those things. He had a vague idea of what Japan was- what it used to be, before it had been reduced to a giant sinkhole, but not much more. Not many people did. Even then, he had far more important things to think about, other than a place halfway across the world that didn’t exist anymore. Flights of fancy didn’t put food on the table. Most of what he knew about a ninja, he learned from Chipp. And sure, he probably exaggerated more than a few things, but according to him, ninjas could teleport, climb walls, and strike fast, and none of those had been a lie so far.
The bruises had already turned piss-colored and faded weeks ago, but Answer still found himself rubbing the same spot on his forearm. The blow that had left the spot bright purple and tender was still fresh in his mind- then again, most things were, even if he didn’t try. Something about this one made him feel like this one would have been that way, even if he didn’t remember the details of everything. It hadn’t even been much of a ‘blow,’ and to say as such would be lying to himself (one of the problems with remembering everything, his mind recalled things as they were, not as he wanted them to be)
It had been far from the first time that some foreign hotshot had rolled into town with big words and bigger promises, promises to turn the slumlands around and turn it into someplace beautiful and safe. They’d show up, talk big, convince enough people to lend their money and manpower, then vanish soon after. Even some of the more bright-eyed of them had turned cynical from the repeated failures, and would regard any of the newcomers with a dry, snide scoff and nothing else. Answer was among them, rolling his eyes at the strangers in suits and ignoring the hollow promises they threw out.
Chipp hadn’t come in a suit, but he’d promised things all the same. He’d come around preaching things like he had any idea what the hell he was doing, and something about his tone had driven Answer over the edge. He’d heard enough of the same swill over and over, and he wanted to make it perfectly clear that he wasn’t going to again. As soon as the opportunity arose, he cornered the stranger in an alleyway.
“You think you’re some kinda hotshot? You think you’re saying anything that isn’t the exact same crap we’ve all heard? Just take your fake promises and get the hell out.”
Chipp, as he would later learn, was not the fastest listener. His frustration was met with cheeriness. “Oh, hey! I saw you earlier, didn’t I? Back in the plaza?”
That was where everyone had been forced to listen to his preaching for far longer than was tolerable. Answer had only stuck around so he could make himself heard.
“Listen, foreigner. Nobody wants you here. Nobody believes a word you’re saying. Is that enough to get your ass to turn around and leave, or do I have to break your nose to get the point across?”
For what it was worth, the guy hadn’t pissed himself as soon as he was threatened, like he would have expected most of the smooth-talking shysters would have. Chipp had hardly even seemed fazed. “Well, if you don’t believe me now, you’ll just have to believe me when I’m president!”
It had only ticked Answer off more. All of his willpower was put to work as to not just deck him right then and there. “You wanna tell me you can change shit around here? Fine. Prove it.”
“Eh?”
“I’m not gonna believe anything unless you show me you aren’t some wuss who’s gonna throw money around and not do shit by himself.” He took a step back and raised his fists. “And if I beat your ass, you’re leaving.”
As if only trying to push Answer to the edge of his sanity, Chipp regarded it with a narrow-eyed smile. “Alright, you’re on! But if I win, you’ve gotta help me become president!”
It had been an easy deal in the moment, since, well, what were the odds that some scrawny American huckster would be any kind of match for his own decade and a half of fighting? As far as he could see, it would be over in less than a minute.
And it had. With him facedown and bleeding.
Answer recalled every missed blow, and every counterattack that Chipp had delivered in response. The man moved faster than he had any damn right to, danced out of reach every time he almost got struck, and at times seemed to straight-up disappear into thin air. The worst part was that Answer could tell he was holding back. If he had the choice, it would have been easy to slash him apart. Chipp had done most of it entirely barehanded, only summoning a sharp blade on his forearm most of the way through. He could have pulled it out from the start, sliced him to ribbons, and ended it in half the time. The blade hadn’t even done much damage when it was used, leaving behind only a shallow nick at the worst. The deliberateness of it all made for the ultimate insult. Chipp not only outclassed him to the point of beating him in a fight, but to also restrain himself the entire time.
“Hey, Answer! C’mere! I finished the new blueprints, come and see!”
It seemed that whenever he so much as turned around, Chipp had pulled something new out of nowhere. The man was ambitious, if nothing else, and the little tent they had pitched had a corner solely devoted to his notes and concepts.
As Answer approached, he noted Chipp clinging to a fat ream of paper, half-rolled under his arm. “Lookit! I drew a whole plan for the center layout!”
He hooked a folding table with a leg and dragged it over, dropping his document and shoving it open. Doodled on the interior were some…less than handsome interpretations of a large building and sprawling smaller ones around it.
“That is a map, not blueprints. If anything, they’re schematics.”
Chipp was unfazed. “Huh. You know a lot of big words, I like it! So whattaya think? It’s not final or anything, but I wanted to get started!”
The longer he looked at it, the worse it got. Forget proper scaling and layout, this guy could barely draw a straight line. The childish awkwardness only served to make his attempt at designs even more absurd and cheesy. His most generous takeaway? It looked like a toddler’s design of a theme park.
Answer rolled his eyes and scoffed. “All it needs is a gift shop.”
The other man opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly, his expression sobered. The stark change left Answer unable to immediately respond with another jab.
“You think I’m gonna try and turn this place into an attraction?”
“Well…” When he thought about it, it wasn’t wrong. Chipp blew into town with big plans, how else would he make money off of them if he had nothing to sell to people?
Chipp shook his head, with a look in his eyes that was almost…disappointment. “That’s not it, man. That’s not the point. You’re missing the point. I don’t want to turn this place into some fancy-pants tourism spot, I want the people already here to be taken care of. That was the whole point of coming here, I know there’s a lot of ways things could be better, and I want to see what I can do.”
“...Yeah, sure.” For all of his disdain towards the man and his nonsense, Answer couldn’t muster up more than a halfhearted barb. His own hesitance surprised him. Why did he give a shit about how Chipp felt? “Listen-”
”HEY!”
Both men froze. They knew immediately that neither of them had been the source of the sound, but they still hesitated in looking elsewhere.
“Whoever’s in that ugly-ass tent better get the fuck out and show their mugs, or else I’m setting it on fire!”
Chipp moved towards the door. Answer just as quickly shoved him away and took his place. The fabric door was pulled back just enough for him to subtly peek through.
Greeting him on the other side was possibly the worst possible thing it could have been. Several yards away stood an all-too-familiar figure, flanked on either side by a half dozen men, all wearing expressions of barely-held restraint to go wild on whatever was unfortunate enough to provoke them.
“Shiiiiit…” Answer poked his head out and pulled it back in. “This is bad. This is very bad. How the hell did you manage to piss off Cormac’s guys? Do you get off on causing trouble or something??”
“Cormac?” Chipp gave him an empty look, and Answer reconsidered any positives he’d thought about the man.
“One of the biggest gang leaders running around right now, idiot! How do you not know who he is?!”
“Well, it’s not like I’ve been here that long…”
Answer put his face in his hands. “We’re fucked. We’re fucked. I should’ve known better than to get involved with you. Now I’m gonna die because I decided to shack up with some dumbass-”
“Are you in his gang?” Chipp asked. “Or did you used to be? You’ve worked with him before?”
“I- sorta?? He needed a number guy, ‘n it’s not like you can say no to a guy like him…” The man smacked his head against one of the tent poles. “Doesn’t matter anyway, he’s gonna kill us both.”
“You fucking deaf in there??” Another bark was hurled in their direction. “I don’t like being ignored!”
Very calmly, Answer approached Chipp and gripped the arm he wore his blade on. “Just gut me. It’ll be faster.”
“Woah, woah woah woah, hold it-” Chipp reeled back, tucking the weapon against himself. “Nobody’s dying, got it?”
“Either they’re gonna kill us, or you kill them first. Which probably isn’t gonna happen-”
“I’m not gonna fucking kill you, get it?”
“So…you’re killing them, then? Seriously?”
“I mean, I guess I could, but I’m not doing that, either.”
Answer gave him an odd look, a mix of flattened hope and annoyance and resignation. “They’re the ones who started shit! They’ve got it coming!”
Chipp shook his head. “They’re just frustrated.”
“Yeah, no shit they’re frustrated! Which is why they’re gonna gut you unless you beat them to the punch! Seriously, do you have a damn death wish??”
Outside, something hard slammed into something harder. “Hey! D’ya got a hole in your brain, or do I gotta make one myself?”
With a crumpled whimper, Answer crouched down in the corner, desperately shaking his head. “Why did I listen to you? Why did I think this could possibly end well?”
Chipp’s expression hardened. Before Answer could stop him, he spun around on his heels, ripped back the tent door, and marched out.
“Don’t- !”
“Alright, alright, I’m here, here I am.” Chipp raised hands into view. “No surprise attacks, got it? Nothing up my sleeves.”
A full group had formed around his ramshackle base, and the ninja had to fight off a hint of uneasiness as it took root. The only one that looked happy to be there was the man at the head of the pack, a scraggly ginger with a mallet nearly as big as he was. Chipp had enough experience with gangs to tell when he was staring down the leader.
“Lemme guess, you’re Cormac?”
“And you’re the foreigner who’s been talking big around here.” The man snorted and spit into the dirt. “Gonna tell me why you thought you could start shit on my land?”
“It’s nice land.” He replied. “It was the first spot I happened to end up in, but it’s nice. I’ll keep it good and clean for you, if you want.”
Either his words or the frankness of how he said them took Cormac by surprise. He desperately tried to hide that fact. “Sassy, huh? Think you can just take someone else’s stuff?”
Chipp responded with a shrug. “Not really. I’m not stealing it, I’m just here. Guess you’re probably used to people stealing though, huh?”
That got him a crooked smile. “I’m always getting shit stolen from me. And I always make ‘em pay for it. Think you’re any different?”
“Can’t really say one way or the other.” He shook his head. “So, look. I don’t wanna fight you. I get it. It’s hard to get everything you need around here, so why not just take it for yourself? If someone else has food, why not steal it? It’s easier than growing it. That just seems like the easy way.”
Someone in the back of the group murmured. Cormac slammed his weapon into the dirt. “Yeah? And?”
“I don’t think it should have to be that way. I think if everyone has enough food and a safe space to live, then they won’t have to fight over it. If we all cooperate instead, I think we’ll be able to make something good. It’ll be hard, and I know that’s not really all that exciting, but it’ll be great once everyone starts working together.”
They were silent. Then their leader broke out into howling laughter, and the rest of the group followed suit.
“Ohhh, I get it. You’re high! You’re outta your goddamn mind!” He forced out between bellows. “Completely bonkers!”
Chipp flustered, but shook his head. “I’m gonna build houses for people to live in. I’m gonna make gardens so everyone has fruits and vegetables to eat. It’ll take some time to make everything, but if I had some more hands, we'd all get there faster.”
More laughter. But as he looked along the cluster of people, he noticed that it was far weaker than the last round had been.
“Okay. You don’t have to believe me. Then just let me do it. I don’t need your weapons or anything. Even if you don’t like it, I’m gonna do my best to help.”
Cormac sobered up quickly. “You’re absolutely fucking insane…”
He stared Chipp down. Chipp stared back. The two remained silent.
The mallet was pulled back from the ground. “Fine, weirdo. Keep your shitty little tent. You’re not worth the effort. But if I catch you causing shit, I’ll turn you into fuckin' hamburger.”
“Unless ‘starting shit’ is building a house, you’re not gonna have a fight with me.”
“C’mon, let’s get outta here. I got better shit to do.”
Chipp called at the retreating group. “And if any of you wanna change your mind, we’ve got a door.”
When he entered the tent again, Answer was staring as though a ghost had appeared before him.
“You’re insane. You’re actually insane.” He wheezed, forcing back a manic laugh. “How are you still alive??”
Behind the privacy of a wall, Chipp shuddered and let out a breath he’d been holding. “Honestly pretty amazed that went okay. Thought I was gonna shit myself.”
”You should be dead,” Said Answer, emphasized with wildly flailing hands.
“Yeah, probably.” The other man conceded. “Can’t guarantee he won’t come back, but it’s a start. We can worry about building before we have to worry about getting into fights with anyone. Good that we’ll be able to get…”
He trailed off, distracted by Answer’s flabbergasted expression. “What?”
“You should be- !”
“Dead, you said that. Yeah.”
“How do you keep getting away with this shit??” Answer snapped. “If I did half of the shit you did, I’d be dead already!”
“Well, heh, like I said, I dunno, either.” Chipp gave him an awkward smile. “I know a lot of this is risky, and I look nuts for trying. Listen, I get it-”
His words earned him a glower. “Don’t lecture me like a parent, I don’t want your pity.”
“Hey, I don’t- I don’t mean it like that.” Chipp halted for a moment, picking at the choker around his neck. “Look, a lot of the reason I came here in the first place was because I wanted to help. I used to be in a place sorta like this. Y’know, drugs, gang wars, the works. I know pulling yourself outta that is like climbing a wall with your bare hands, if I can give someone a hand and help ‘em over, why wouldn’t I?”
“Sure. I’m sure you had it so hard in America.”
“Do you know what it feels like to be on heroin?”
He paused. “No?”
“It’s warm. It’s comfy. It’s like sinking into the softest couch you’ve ever felt and not worrying about a damn thing. The best I’ve ever felt in my life were the times I was high on it.”
Answer looked down at him. “Are you trying to sell it to me?”
“No, I’m trying to do the opposite. You don’t give a shit about anything when you’re high. You don’t care that you haven’t eaten. You don’t care that you’ve got an infected wound because you can’t feel it. You wake up covered in your own piss and puke because you couldn’t make yourself get up to go and didn’t care because you just felt so fuckin’ good from shooting up. You know something’s wrong with you, ‘n you can see all the stuff it’s doing to you, and it doesn’t make you go ‘I gotta get off of this shit,’ it makes you go ‘where can I get more so it makes the feeling go away?’”
He hadn’t seen Chipp like this before. Even when he wasn’t frustratingly jovial, there was always an informal lilt to his words. This, though, this wasn’t informal. It wasn’t silly. Answer didn’t know what to do with the sense of dourness that had invaded his voice and face.
“I never woulda’ gotten off drugs without someone helping me.” Chipp continued. “Lotta the time, giving up shit like that’s not about willpower, it’s having help. It’s having an alternative. I wanna give folks here an alternative.”
“You’re too much of an idealist.” The other man shook his head.
“Maybe. Maybe I am. What’s wrong with that?”
Answer opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t manage a reply. He hated that about Chipp. Before he’d shown up, Answer felt certain of himself, never questioned why he did what he did. He didn’t like having that changed. But, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Chipp had never really forced that upon him. He’d been dragged along on his nonsensical plans, sure, but the self-reflection was all his own.
Thankfully, before he had to think any further, a third voice came from the other side of the tent. Answer flinched, but realized it wasn’t the same domineering voice that had been there last time.
“White-hair guy, you still here?”
“Huh?” Chipp pulled the door open again. “Yeah, can I help you?”
On the other side stood another duo, one slender with quick, dark eyes, and one twice his size. The large one nodded, making his bangs flop back and forth.
“H-hey, were you for real? About all that stuff about houses and growing stuff?”
“Yeah, I am. What about it?”
“Can we help?”
Behind him, Answer balked. “Really?”
Chipp greeted them with far more enthusiasm, sticking out a hand. “Always glad to have help!”
“That’s Dakarai.” He gave his hand a hearty shake. “And I’m Luan.”
“Chipp. And this is Answer.”
“Answer? Answer!” Dakarai peered over Chipp’s shoulder and waved. “Long time no see, man! Was wondering where you’d gone to, glad you ain’t dead!”
“I wanna stop seeing little kids run around in gangs,” said Luan. “If this’ll do anything to change that, then I’ll do it.”
Answer recognized the face Chipp was making right then and there. It was the same one he’d made while speaking in the town square, the same one he’d made when he had cornered him afterward. He’d hated it. He still wanted to hate it, and yet when he tried to dredge up those emotions, less of it came out.
“I really like that. I’m gonna try and make a place where kids don’t have to worry about taking care of their families. It won’t be easy, but if we all work together, I think we’ll really get somewhere. We’re still planning stuff out right now, what’re you good at? We’re gonna divide up jobs."
“I’ve got bad eyes,” Luan said, “but I can carry anything you give me.”
“Cormac had me in charge of keeping track of supplies- y’know, food and weapons and stuff. I’m good at keeping stock, if you need a guy like that.”
“That sounds great! Both sound awesome!” Chipp glanced over at the horizon. “Damn, looks like it’s already getting late. I think I’m gonna look over the plans I got and try to figure out what steps to start with. Think you can be back here around sunrise?”
Both men nodded. “I’ll bring some gardening stuff.” Added Dakarai.
“Nice, nice. Answer and I’ll work on breaking things up into smaller jobs.”
The two departed not long after. Answer sank into one of the tent’s chairs, shaking his head in dismay. “I don’t get it.”
Chipp replied “don’t get what? That I’m not dead? You said that already."
“I don’t get you. I keep waiting for something to go wrong. I keep waiting for you to fuck up and run off with your tail between your legs. You just keep proving me wrong. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m not leaving. If this whole thing fails, then it’s not gonna be because I gave up on it. I’m not throwing in the towel unless someone kills me. And, hell, maybe if they do, there’ll be enough people still working on fixing things that it won’t even matter.”
Despite himself, Answer let a little chuckle escape. “Boss. I don’t like asking this, but can you do me a favor?”
“‘Boss…’? Uh, yeah, what is it?”
“Keep proving me wrong.”