Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

- It would seem that I should be careful which Identities to use in which teams of five, as the personalities they exhibit, while still showing signs of the original(?) Sinner, are still mostly that identity. And as I've noticed, said Identities seem to be related to stronger foes we've fought in the past, such as the Leader of the Los Mariachis Gang, Aida. This can lead to frictions with people Who have specific histories with the people the Identities are related to... like the Kromer Identity that overlays over Faust.

The first time I used a Nagel Und Hammer identity, it was with Meursault. 

I thank my lucky star that this had happened after the events in Calw and, thus, I already knew of what Sinclair's reaction could potentially be - including the war cry and the extensive use of Vogel to rip the former N Corp member of the Sinners into chunks. So I decided to still conduct an interview with the identity, just in a secluded spot outside the bus since apparently I couldn't enter the Sinners' rooms. Vergilius said as much, though he didn't elaborate whether it was a physical inability or a privacy concern. Now, Nagel Und Hammer had more than once made clear they see me as an abomination to be purged. However, this still being Meursault, I assumed I wouldn't have my head impaled to the walls of Mephistopheles like a butterfly in a lepidopterist's collection.

My assumption proved correct, and I was able to speak to what I assume was a version of Meursault that had taken Guido's role in the N Corp branch. While there was some talk about burning me in fire to "purify me of my mechanical filth" (among other threats of a painful end), the Sinner seemed to still recognize me as the Executive Manager. It was proving to be a surprisingly fruitful conversation... Until Sinclair walked in.

Now I didn't notice Sinclair immediately. What I did notice was the halberd that the N Corp. Großhammer chose to... grab mid-swing, by the blade. It took me a second to recognize what had happened, and I barely manage to dive to the side before the Number 11 Sinner wrenched his weapon back to him. The blade passed very roughly right through where my head was (which would've been a pretty bad thing to happen, you know, on account of my head apparently being the only thing keeping the LCB in business), and a sense of mortality washed over me. Sinclair's expression was intense and strained, to the point where I could hear his teeth gnashing against each other. He was readying another swing at Meursault, who had not moved at all.

However as of time of writing, I still must note that the biggest wound I healed was a conspicuously large circular stab into the heart. And that though two people died (and were subsequently wound back to life) that day, one of them simply didn't see the point in dodging given the circumstances.

I've noted for the future to take care and only use N Corp Identities in cases where the same team wouldn't also include Sinclair. He may be a bit stronger mentally after the events in his hometown, but that occurrence proved he was still likely to attack any Nagel Und Hammer staff on sight and with extreme prejudice.

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- There's something to be said about the effects that Identities have on the one they're synced with, not just the ones that they have history with. The N Corp ones, in particular, have a very pronounced effect on their respective original (still don't know if that's even the right term) Sinner's personality, what with their fairly overwhelming personalities and, as I've seen with Kleinhammer Heathcliff, copious amounts of what I can only assume to be brainwashing.

Things have certainly taken an... odd turn.

For one, during a routine Extraction, I pulled out another Nagel Und Hammer Identity... but this one was for Sinclair. At first, I shoved that one away to a corner of... well I'm not sure how to describe the storage of the Identities, so I'll just say "to a corner of my mind". I had to ask Faust (non-Gripping variant) if it would even be safe to use that identity, given the sheer horror that Sinclair had over the idea that he would ever join Kromer in her Inquisition. The genius Sinner didn't necessarily answer my question, instead noting that the number of Nagel Und Hammer Identities in our possession had grown to six - and that was true. Heathcliff, Rodion, Don Quixote, Meursault, and Faust herself - and now Sinclair as well. On some missions where I chose not to involve Sinclair, I'll admit I had the entirety of the five-person team be only the N Corp Identities. Their synergy was noticeable. Not surprising, given how the Inquisitors are essentially a purely combat division for N Corp. But I get a bad feeling from the Sinclair identity.

Faust suggested that the best way to determine the safety of it is to simply use it once. Perhaps she's right.

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-Some Identities, though they seem like they'd have nothing in common with their Sinner, are still that same person. They just took a different turn in their life path than the original (forget it, I'll just roll with this term). I should do good to remember that.

I didn't think Sinclair would be this calm about his N Corp version. Perhaps realizing the actual story behind what Kromer said about seeing a future where they were both side-by-side as Inquisitors gave him perspective? As far as I could tell after Uptying the Identity, the reason Sinclair had even joined Kromer - or rather Faust, in that reality - was simply fear and self-delusion for the sake of retaining his sanity. And seeing that himself, I got the impression that Emil could understand, or relate to that plan. He was disappointed in it, sure, but it wasn't like he could blame that other him. Identities are pretty much the same person, so there wasn't a way for two of them synced to the same Sinner to communicate with each other... at least, no way that I can think of right now...

...Maybe I could use these notes to let them write letters to each other...?

Nevermind, back on topic.

The issue with The One Who Shall Grip turned out to be less about Sinclair himself, and more about The One Who Grips Faust. Her constant egging-on of Emil in the test run I did pushed the blond man into increasingly suicidal acts, and the other N Corp identities on the team only supported her in the fervent pushing. Not only that, but he refused any attempts for me to rewind the clock while he remained alive. He just kept pushing himself, almost like a feral animal at one point.

My whole body felt like it had been ran through a meat grinder when I finally rewound the broken body of the dead Sinner.

When I later talked with the Identity, the lack of Faust and the knowledge that Kromer was dead seemed to relax him. I suppose that even with an N Corp Identity, I should simply not put Emil in the same team as N Corp identities.

At least, not if I want to keep my supply of painkillers going for longer than 2 days.

Chapter Text

- Faust has said before that Identities have a limit to the power they can gain from upgrading them with tickets. Theoretically, this limit would be softened with time, and in the future Identities that have reached their peak would be able to go further beyond. Apparently, it’s something about the Identities growing in the universe they originate from.

The thought crossed my mind a few days ago, when I was Uptying one of Rodion’s Identities I had put on the back burner for a later date. It was the Kurokumo one, and when I finished it off, I saw a vision of some part of the identity’s story like always. Routine thing, at that point.

What caught my attention was the appearance of Ryōshū.

It wouldn’t be the first time another Sinner with an Identity in the same world has made a cameo – Shi Association Ishmael and Shi Association Heathcliff were prime examples of such a thing happening – but it was something she said that piqued my interest.

“We're about to have our swords dance with the Blade Lineage.”

I had what I could only assume to be all the Identities from that Mirror World – Yi Sang, Outis, and Sinclair on the Blade Lineage side, along with the aforementioned Rodya and Ryōshū on the Kurokumo side, joined by Hong Lu.

And honestly I’m just surprised that Hong Lu has so many Identities where he’s a gang member or boss, and an experienced one at that. You’d think his origins as a person of incredible wealth would lead him to more… I’d say “cushy” positions. But then again, he’s here with us, as part of the LCB. Maybe there’s a natural drive in him that seeks out danger?

And if there is, and there was apparently a gang war brewing between the Kurokumo and the Blade Lineage…

Well, you’d think simulating it might actually expand the horizons for the Identities. That would be a good thing. But I don’t want to think how many painkillers I’d need to buy to abate the constant conflicts, and thus highly painful rewinds, that those Identities would be the cause of. And those are some of my best options for longer battles in the Mirror Dungeons and the Refraction Lines…

Why do I have to risk this…

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- From what the Identities of the Kurokumo Clan and the Blade Lineage have said, the feud between them has been going for a long while, to the point that tensions boiling over sounded like they were a long time coming. But after some more digging, both groups claim something to the effect of “the other side slashed first”.

- When I asked Yi Sang about who started the feud, the Blade Lineage member (in between some rather poetic philosophy about fate and how the two groups were always bound to clash) said that Outis, as the de facto leader of the Syndicate, had received multiple... apparently rude letters from the Kurokumo, basically demanding that Blade Lineage assimilate to the Thumb subsidiary. And when I asked Rodion, she said that some captains from the Kurokumo had been murdered, and that at their murder sites they had found decorative tassels that were very much a staple of Blade Lineage.

On the bright side, the two groups that had started to worry me a bit (to the point where I didn’t put Identities belonging to opposing ends of the feud in one team together) didn’t start a gang war at the end of a work day.

In fact, it was a much more peaceful time than I would’ve expected. So when Outis and Hong Lu came to me in their gang Identities, I almost breathed a sigh of relief (that would've came out as a click of a snooze button) from finally being able to relax in the knowledge that things really were never that easy.

They wanted to organize the gang war. The Kurokumo Clan vs. The Blade Lineage. Settle it once and for all. An end to the feud, if bloody.

I thought for three seconds before flat out rejecting the idea.

Now, I’m glad it was Outis and Hong Lu that came to talk. Or rather, I’m glad it wasn’t Ryōshū – everyone else who was part of the gangs was actually someone who’d be reasonable. But Outis and Hong Lu, in particular, we’re the two types of people who I could more freely reject the ideas of – namely, an easy-going person and what several other Sinners have titled “a sycophant”.

All that made it easier to tell them a very empathic "No". Of course, they wanted an explanation, and I had one ready - the amount of medicine I'd need after rewinding them was more than I had and more than I could afford. Not to mention we were, at the time, fairly far away from any place that would carry drugs strong enough for my needs. Unsurprisingly, no Backstreets pharmacy had the kind of painkiller that could abate the pain of 3-6 deaths happening at the same time. It looked like I had convinced them to at least put off the fight until we (or rather I) could prepare the supplies (and mental fortitude) needed to ensure this endeavor won't slow us down. Delays were sure to piss off Vergilius, and that was something none of us wanted. I could almost hear the unspoken words of agreement - and then Faust decided to butt in.

"I've actually discussed it with Vergilius, and he agreed that if this can be used as an opportunity to strengthen the Sinners, then we can afford a delay from our next destination to immediately resupply our stock of pain medication."

Faust, ever the genius, had realized the same thing I had: "Since the experiences of the Identities in their Mirror Worlds is what strengthen them, then there's a chance you can stregthem them via a metaphorical "continuation of the journey", as it were."

Except she was more wordy with it.

I could see the writing on the bus wall - especially as it was reflected in the eyes of the two rivaling Syndicate members in front of me. With a sigh that sounded like a really sad clock alarm, I relented.

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- The feud between the Kurokumo clan and the Blade Lineage seemed like an odd one - a cursory glance would lead one to think it's just two rival Syndicates duking it out. Ask some of its members and learn some history though, and you realize there's many discrepancies - namely, there was no territorial disputes left. The Thumb had apparently told the Kurokumo to pull out of the ruins of District 12, where they were having their disputes with Blade Lineage, which the Syndicate did. And even if they hadn't, the motives of each side were weak when you looked at the other one.

- Blade Lineage doesn't have the organization or philosophy to execute an assassination. If anything they'd sooner call the Captains out and challenge them to a one-on-one fight, not sneak into their homes and attack them there. And the Kurokumo don't have a reason to try and assimilate the Blade Lineage - the latter's lack of any real hierarchy would not mesh well with the strict power structure of the Thumb subsidiary, and that's ignoring that the Syndicate was already massive enough as it was. So really, who actually lit the fuse of this long-cold grenade?

Credit where credit's due - Faust made sure that this trip got me something as well. The drugstore in the Nest of District 11 we visited to stock up on painkillers sold some pretty high-quality stuff. So high-quality in fact, they barely sold any of it because people didn't need something that strong. Faust made a killer deal to buy it in bulk for barely any more than we did the previous. I had enough stock for months, and that was if I used it with the same dosage, which I didn't need to do because it was double the strength of what I had been using up until that point. Granted, I was about to be put through a metaphorical meat grinder, but hey, at least I didn't need to worry too much about the pain now.

What I maybe needed to worry about was the gambling ring.

As we pulled into a clearing in the woods of District 11, the Sinners that were about to have a face-off got themselves in position, roughly 15 meters from each other. Meursault was appointed judge, mostly because he could be trusted to be completely neutral, but also because he wouldn't want to participate in the background workings of this fight.

Gregor, in a rarely-seen fit of initiative (which, and I mean no offence to the guy, was probably spurred on by Rodya), set up a small gambling ring for those that weren't part of the war. Given we all either immediately spend our paychecks or didn't care about money, the pot consisted of snacks or entertainment items. Things like candy bars (Ishmael), comic books (Don Quixote), and a beat-up engraved lighter (Heathcliff). Faust surprised me by betting a massive tub of premium ice cream on the Kurokumo side. Upon seeing it, Charon started salivating and looking at Vergilius, who had previously refused to take part in the whole thing. Thirty seconds later, the Red Gaze dropped... A few coupons for free Boddhisatva Chicken? We actually got those for real? He bet them on the Blade Lineage, and while I personally thought he did it just to bet... The choice made sense to me. They were in their element here, being specialists in one-on-one duels, while the Kurokumo were more used to bringing small armies to their altercations. So I followed his example, and bet a book I'd finished a couple days prior. The bets were 3-4 in favor of the Kurokumo, to my surprise. Heathcliff was the only one besides me and Vergilius to bet Blade Lineage, and I'm 90% sure that was because he could sympathize with their usual members.

Right as we'd finished tallying it up, Meursault gave the signal to start the bout.

I must admit, even though I was already clutching a syringe of painkillers in my coat pocket, I was watching intently because of the spectacle more than anything else. The irezumi enhancement tattoos that were signature to the Kurokumo added some beautiful, almost surreal clouds of smoke to their sword swings, and their experience in working in teams was actually helping them cover each others' blind spots. The Blade Lineage, on the other hand, was all brutal efficiency and reckless attacks, leaving themselves open in exchange for nearly-unavoidable slashes that the Kurokumo had trouble parrying and capitalizing on. But the recklessness was not paying off enough.

The Blade Lineage side was sporting more and more bleeding wounds as time went on. Realistically it had been three minutes since Meursault hit the metaphorical starting gong, but that was plenty in fights. It seemed like the Kurokumo team spirit (can it really be called that?) was giving them the edge needed.

Perhaps it would've ended in their victory if it was any other Sinners.

Outis, as both the Leader of the Blade Lineage and as a former military commander (at least, I assume she was at one point in a command position), started giving out commands to Sinclair and Yi Sang. The two men were already among those who better followed orders, but having actual history with Outis as a leader only made things run even smoother. The Kurokumo side, though used to teamwork, was even more used to commanding swats of lower-ranking members, of which there were none. And with all of them at equal positions, no one could comfortably take the initiative to make command, not to mention Ryōshū and Hong Lu's in-universe lack of genuine care for the hierarchy. At least, that's how Rodya and Yi Sang later explained the unexpected comeback.

Though even then it was close.

The first to fall was Rodion, followed a second later by Sinclair as the two skewered each other through the heart and throat respectively. Hong Lu was next, as Yi Sang cut him in half after Outis parried a blow with almost impossibly tight timing. Ryōshū put up a fierce resistance against the two left, and probably because they were constantly attacking in turns she actually managed to cut Yi Sang down. But in a fit of either strategy or something more poetic, the normally-passive Sinner held the blade inside himself, not letting Ryōshū withdraw it immediately. He died seconds later and the blade drew out with his fall, but it was time aplenty for Outis to decapitate the third and final Kurokumo Wakashu.

Meursault, never impressed or surprised, immediately announced the end of the fight.

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- I'd like to note that the little experiment didn't yield any immediately obvious results, though I did notice that the two factions seemed to have cooled off their rivalry, at least when it came to starting fights in their free time. Now it was on personal basis, rather than by gang colors.

Chapter Text

- As a rule, I take care to not have the sinners take too many hits. I can heal them, sure, but pain is never something enjoyed by any one of us. But both our track record and our luck have had their say in plans going sideways. E.G.O. Corrosions and Overclocking, in particular, are always risky things to use. I've learned the small details related to managing the Sinners' morale, but as far as I know I'm only human.

Contrary to the speed at which we went on our first two expeditions for Golden Boughs, it took time to actually get to missions. With how the Before Team had to research the locations, relevant parties and politics, and possible dangers of the mission, it could actually take months before we ever got to try our hands at reclaiming the gilded branches of power. In between the Golden Bough missions, mine and the Sinners' job is to keep ourselves in shape and improving. Our romp with the owner of Eunbong's Bar & Fryers, for instance, was something we actually got paid for. This was because Faust wrote a report that claimed it as "an information gathering expedition aimed at researching Distortions with the intent of learning ways to deal with them in the case of them becoming an obstacle in achieving our main objective, as had happened in the most recent expedition". Of course, we can't find Distortions as easily as we can find chicken restaurants, so we instead use the Mirror Dungeons and Luxcavations.

And honestly, during the first dive into the Mirror Dungeons I wondered if they weren't the secret behind my employers' incredible wealth - we had found a few E.G.O. Gifts that had themselves impressive powers, and we didn't necessarily need all of them. When they melted before my metaphorical eyes, becoming the Experience Tickets, Thread, and E.G.O. Shards used to empower the Sinners, I understood that it would still be some time until I unraveled that specific monetary mystery.

But that didn't stop me from being admittedly fascinated with the mental training space. Far from it - I was actually feeling an itch to discover more and more of the place. We had seen a few Abnormalities (Faust corrected me by saying those were more likely Aberrations, off-shoots of Abnormalities that were no less enigmatic, but usually weaker) inside, and every trip usually ended with finding more of them. Sometimes they fought us, sometimes we could move on from them by doing specific tasks and actions, and sometimes it was both. More than once a Sinner has been killed by those fights and choices.

Sometimes, however, it's a Sinner doing the dirty work. Whether due to the effects of the an Abnormality encounter tanking the sanity of someone just enough that they eventually Corrode, or the effects of an E.G.O. gift activating at an unexpected situation - it usually sucks.

What immediately comes to mind is one of my personal favorites among the E.G.O. Gifts - the Rusty Commemorative Coin. I've noticed that some of the attacks that the Sinners utilize seem to get repeated, almost like a recording, whenever I get the coin. Though there also seems to be a few seconds of cool-down period. And so far, anytime a Sinner has used an E.G.O. attack, it has been eligible to get this effect. Of course, this isn't an issue for the personal E.G.O.s that the Sinners use, given how they feel no mental strain with them, but the ones we've scavenged from the L. Corp facilities or via Extraction... well, those don't tend to work out so well for us.

One time in particular sticks out to me. I sent out Ishmael to weaken an enemy in the Mirror Dungeons, mostly to ensure that Outis would have a clean shot at killing them with her Overclocked Sunshower E.G.O. And then Ishmael, likely by complete luck, killed the enemy in a spectacular shower of gore and Poise. The problem is, that being the last enemy in that fight, there was nowhere else for Outis to send her E.G.O. attack, and in her almost-Corroded state she looked at the #8 Sinner. Ishmael wasn't fast enough to avoid the attack, but she was tough enough to survive it by a thread.

Not so much when Outis reset her position with the sound of a flipped coin and attacked her again with the hole-ridden umbrellas. In fact, I think that was the largest amount of separate parts a Sinner had been separated into, to the point I actually kind of worried if I could even bring her back. I did, but that was still a pretty tense moment. Ishmael very pointedly didn't speak to Outis for a while after that moment, up until a similar situation occurred with the roles reversed two floors down. It turns out, if an Overclocked Capote happens twice from Ismael, it doesn't make a whole new gigantic mace - the one from the first strike just... flies back up and slams down again at the new position.

Do... do E.G.O. attacks have a budget for spawned weapons?

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- Dealing with Abnormalities is always a risky endeavor. Sure, sometimes they're mostly peaceful and we have to actively screw up or antagonize them, and very rarely they are downright friendly and helpful. But other times, their presence is just... harrowing. And that never bodes well for anyone, especially when overwhelming emotional turmoil is the difference between a Sinner controlling their actions and being consumed by the E.G.O.

The moments where we happen upon Abnormalities in the Mirror Dungeons in a not-necessarily hostile situation are some of my favorites. Especially when we happen upon the Sunset Traveler or the Fairy Gentleman, which are encounters even the other Sinners agree are fairly good for the soul. After all, no matter what choice we make, they end up helping us out.

Of course, for every friendly anomaly, there's plenty of disconcerting ones as well. And when they come right before a fight, that makes things even harder to deal with. No matter what we do, we usually end up with headaches and a sense of dread after encountering one of the less jovial Abnos. Such as reading the tablet of the Heavenly Executor's Scribe, or peeking at the book of the Skin Prophet, or meeting the Lost Mind. Those wouldn't be an issue alone, but when they cause a Sinner to commit friendly fire... well that never tends to go well. For instance, Hong Lu found himself Corroding to Roseate Desire at the start of a fight after a particularly bad run-in with the HES. I'll admit, hearing Gregor complain about "not being into stuff quite that hardcore" was funny for a few seconds. Then Hong Lu started compressing the insectoid-armed Sinner in such a way that everyone could audibly hear the bones and bug carapace crack and snap, followed shortly by the pained yells of Greg. After that nobody laughed... except for Hong Lu after he came down from the Corrosion high and remembered the joke.

Point is, plenty of the Abnormalities and Aberrations in the Mirror Dungeons screw us over. Some of those times, however, I find it hard to blame the entities when it's my own Sinners being at fault. Whether they prod where they shouldn't out of curiosity, or they become overconfident and end up failing at the tasks at hand, or even just that they want to start a fight out of boredom. It's hard to blame the inhuman when it's just minding its own business and some random gaggle of idiots appear out of nowhere and disturb it. Such was the case with the Blubbering Toad.

See, I actually like this little (in a manner of speaking) critter. All he wants is an ear to vent to. So long as we stay a while and hear its croaking out, it gives us a gift, and even if we try to talk back to it in croaks, it just looks confused for a moment, then leaves. I'm pretty sure the reason for that is that none of us speak amphibian (not even Don Quixote or Faust when they have Fluid Sac equipped), so a single sound from the Sinners probably has anywhere between 4 and 13 grammatical errors per croak. I don't mind just sitting in silence - it's not a really comfortable break, and I still can't rewind anything while there, but it's a few minutes where we just sit and don't have to fight.

That is, if Ryōshū doesn't egg on Heathcliff to fight the Abnormality because, and I quote verbatim, "He's too weak to commit an IAOV against it" (Sinclair translated that bit of SANGRIA, or Ryōshū-nese as I call it, to mean "Incredible Act Of Violence"). Heathcliff, to his credit, immediately called Ryōshū out on her bait, to which the swordswoman just shrugged... and then proceeded to attack the toad herself.

The abnormality didn't attack us directly, but it made sure to voice its displeasure at Ryōshū being Ryōshū. And once it did, everyone present doubled over as an intense wave of just pure, unfiltered negative emotions washed over us. As we were babbling incoherently, and some were even crying, Blubbering Toad left and we were spat back out on the paths between Dungeon rooms. Asking later, the other Sinners' heads had been filled with regrets and bad memories. Only Meursault had seemed unaffected by the whole endeavor, but I quickly learned that was just his usual outward apathy. A little after the Blubbering Toad left us, when we entered a fight with some N Corp. Inquisitors, I had Meursault use his Pursuance E.G.O. against one of them. And he did so, to respectable results. But he didn't go back to being Meursault. In fact, he flew back upwards, and I could see his already stone-like face was covered by a literal stone mask. Ryōshū, Heathcliff, and one of the remaining Inquisitors could also see that, especially when the stoic Sinner swooped down to slam them with a massive hand of blue light.

I am so glad that rewinding the clock picks up the pieces of the Sinners all on its own. Otherwise I really would've felt sorry for whichever member of the team I was going to ask to scrape Ryōshū off the floor. "Light" my clockwork ass, that E.G.O. must be a heavy thing to get hit by.

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- The same way that E.G.O.s must be charged up with Sin Resources and general mental well-being to use, there also seems to be attacks that require a similar kind of prep work. I had noticed it some time ago with R Corp. 4th Pack Rabbit Heathcliff, as he seemed to sometimes do much better in his attacks if I chained in some Wrath Skills. Even more so if he was one of the first to move in a fight. it seemed like he was charging up some sort of energy, or maybe just pure adrenaline? Sure, his limited ammo was a bit of a problem in extended bouts, but he'd often be the reason a fight ended quickly anyways, so it balanced out.

- The other identity from the same Mirror World was similar yet very different in that regard. Reindeer Ishmael wasn't limited in ammo, given how she didn't use a gun like Rabbit Heath or her LCCB Identity, but the headaches she'd have after a longer fight would leave me wondering if I should even keep using that specific Identity. But I can't deny it did really well for a while there, even if Mind Whip was a... risky move.

I hadn't noticed it at first. Later I would realize there was a certain way to use Mind Whip, but for a time it just seemed like a powerful skill that could outright delete some of our enemies. Its output seemed capable of standing toe-to-toe with some of the single-target E.G.O. attacks (Though not their Corrosion variants), and Ishmael said that the migraines were a fair price for the power she was pulling out. But neither of us had realized the risks of it - namely, that it could end up lashing out indiscriminately at either enemies or allies. This was learned the hard way when Don Quixote found herself on the wrong end of the R. Corp-charged Mind Staff. Ishmael swore that she was still aiming at an enemy, but when the exuberant blond Sinner had called out in victory over her felling another foe, Ish glanced in her direction. Likely guided by her gaze, the arcs of mental energy jumped to Don, and the proceeded to fry her like a chicken drumstick.

She'd later apologize, and I was relieved to see that Don didn't seem to hold any hard feelings over it. Maybe it was because that specific Identity was the Shi Association South Section 5 Director, an Identity of Don that had Ishmael as a subordinate the blond was fiercely protective of. Maybe Don was just like that, and didn't hold grudges for long, if at all. Maybe it was because Don had accidentally Corroded her Lifetime Stew E.G.O. attack and hurt Ishmael rather than heal her a few fights earlier, so now she felt they were even. A little of everything, perhaps?

I couldn't look at the bucket of Bodhisattva Chicken we had for dinner that evening after experiencing what it's like to be flash-cooked, and I had to thank my lucky star I didn't actually seem to need food. How Don could scarf a whole bucket on her lonesome - I couldn't understand but could respect the mental fortitude. Why Ishmael refused the meat and stuck to a salad that evening, I could sympathize with, but felt kind of sad I couldn't actually taste food.

Gotta wonder if there's prosthetics that allow you to feel tastes. There's prosthetics I'd consider even more complicated than that, but I had to wonder if they were even commercially available. And if they were, would my salary, plagued by constant purchases of painkillers and rewards for the Sinners when they did well, be able to afford such an item? No, more importantly, would I even be able to install it to my head? It's apparently one-of-a-kind tech. Both because it's too complicated to tinker with willy-nilly, and more importantly, its contents are probably a company secret now.

Ah well. I'll deal with the phantom hunger pangs for now.

Chapter Text

- One of my duties as Executive Manager is, apparently, to manage my relationships with the Sinners. This means two things - on my end, it's learning how the Sinners and their Identities fight so as to better place them on strike teams and utilize their skills to their utmost; and on their end, ensuring they trust my judgement and can suppress their survival instincts so as to... take a stab for me. Shucks, it's still somewhat weird to think like that. But either way, what falls in between those two parts of relationship management is having a handle on how the Sinners themselves are holding up with each other.

Among the Sinners, there's always some that have an almost established relationship - Gregor and Rodion are the most friendly with each other; Ishmael and Heathcliff are almost always at the other's throat, though they also seem to work surprisingly well together in a fight; Sinclair, much to my surprise, seems to be the one closest to Ryōshū and the only one able to almost immediately decode her SANGRIA; Faust and Yi Sang have a mutual respect for each other as fellow scientists and geniuses; and so on and so forth. Those are examples that are obvious to even strangers.

There are also those moments that don't really constitute a relationship, but merit a note or two all the same.

Like that time that Heathcliff drank Rodya under a table.

It happened shortly after the case of the Sinner Gang War - freshly off of it, after Vergilius won the tub of ice cream from Faust, he let me choose what to do with the rest of the stuff in the pot of winnings. Seeing as I had no need for food, I looked to the other winner of the betting ring - Heathcliff, who had been busy stuffing his face with one of the candy bars Ishmael had bet and rubbing his victory in her face. I want to add that the ginger Sinner almost used Hearse to knock his head off for gloating a lucky guess, but Heathcliff actually had a good explanation for his choice that placated her to the point she actually let him rub it in a bit more. Not getting a reaction meant he stopped lording it over her quickly enough, which is when he noticed me looking towards him.

He must've thought I'd lecture him or something, because he huffed and glared at me, but when I explained I actually just wanted his opinion on what to do with those winnings, he seemed to actually think about it seriously. I admit, I thought he'd just say that we just stash it for a rainy day, but instead the batter suggested we throw a small party the next time we finished a day early. "Me 'n the mates always made a right mess of empty bevvy bottles after a real good day. Kept morale up to know we could bash hard if we busted our asses hard," he said.

That day came soon enough, when we managed to do incredibly well in the new Mirror Dungeon that unlocked after we got our third Golden Bough of four attempts. The fact this was our first attempt at it yet we managed to nearly steamroll through it left everyone in high spirits, and so I pulled over Heathcliff to ask him what he had in mind for his party.

Free chicken in copious amounts, and spending our usual dinner funds on equally copious amounts of cheap alcohol. That was Heathcliff's plan. And I was damn sure that it was a plan that would backfire horribly.

But riding the high of everyone else's high spirits, I agreed nonetheless.

Later that same evening, things were going rather smoothly for the most part. Sure, Sinclair was already knocked out after a few shots of what Ishmael called "Fairy Wine" she made with knowledge from her E.G.O.::Sloshing Identity. And sure, Don Quixote could barely slur out the latest tale of adventures of the Purple Tear to a seemingly-sober Meursault (who was nursing an entire bottle of what Outis told me might be 70% pure ethanol). But it was rather more peaceful than I expected.

And then Heathcliff challenged Rodya to a drink-off. Gambling included, with both of them betting a month of laundry duty. Ishmael's earlier cocktails were used for the showdown, and I was suddenly stricken with morbid curiosity. Since I felt the pain that Sinners felt when they died, would I also get drunk if they died of alcohol poisoning?

I decided not to wonder about it too much, concentrating instead on my two already-sloshed colleagues sitting against each other with cocktails of mint liquor, black tea, and moonshine spread into shot glasses between them. Heathcliff pulled the first one to himself, downed it, then flipped the glass over. Rodion did the same without hesitation. This repeated a few times, and soon both Sinners were swaying back and forth. You could almost feel their visions swimming. Heathcliff seemed to hesitate at one point, and his opponent tried to capitalize on it with teasing remarks of "reaching his limit". The batter's response was to grab two shots and down them simultaneously. By this point, the audience (which hadn't ceased their own drinking on account of the competition) was starting to make bets all their own between each other. Manga, miscellaneous chores, another tub of ice cream (where was Faust getting them, and more importantly where was she hiding them to just pull out at a moment's notice?). Even Meursault bet - but he bet an hour of listening to a drunk Don raving on about Fixers, so everyone decided not to call his bet.

Rodion seemed like she hadn't expected the Sinner opposite her to double the speed. But after a second of being dumbfounded, she called his bluff and downed three shots at once. Heathcliff, on the other hand, didn't hesitate to do the same, and you could almost hear the alcohol rusting the gears in his head. Ishmael, sloshed on both Identity and hooch, was looking at both Sinners with what I could only assume was a look of great mental calculations - the kind where she put two and two together and tried to justify getting five. She eventually leaned on Heathcliff's back and started cheering him on.

Heathcliff didn't even question that the one person he butted heads with the most on the bus was now bodily leaning on his back and helping him hold up his drinks. Rodion herself looked down at the plentiful remaining alcohol, as if debating whether she was starting to see things, and even Vergilius, who had sat to the side eating the recently-won ice cream with Charon, paused with a spoonful of strawberry and cream mid-way from the tub to his mouth. Everyone halfway conscious was staring in various degrees of being dumbfounded... except for Gregor, who, in his very drunken state, had somehow halfway resonated with his G Corp Manager Corporal identity, grown a pair of mantis antennae, and was now convinced he could use telekinesis (he was trying to use it to levitate chicken into his mouth).

Quickly enough, Rodion came off her stupor and continued drinking. Four shots. Heathcliff called it with Ishmael's assistance, going for five. His opponent, possibly surprised he was still capable of doing something like that, tried to imitate him. Seeing as she didn't have an extra pair of arms to help her though, Sinner #9 opted for a speed-drinking method. One shot. Second shot. Third shot. fourth and fifth shot at the same time. The now-duo opposite her, possibly thinking this a change of rules, copied her... by going for three rounds of two shots each. Heathcliff downed six shots in the blink of an eye.

I'll never know what spurred Rodya on in that competition. Pride? Drunken stubborness? Drunken idiocy? She doesn't remember either.

What I remember, as the only sober person there besides Charon and Vergilius, was how Rodion tried to copy Heathcliff with the six shots in three doses method... only to choke on the second set. In a coughing fit, she stood up suddenly, knocking her short chair backwards... right into the sleeping Sinclair's legs. Startled out of his pleasant-looking dream, the youngest Sinner kicked his legs in a start, catching Don's SUEÑO IMPOSIBLE with his foot. The lance shot upwards, knocking at the panels used to store weapons above the seats and rattling them violently... which knocked Rodion's Раскол off it and straight into its owner's skull.

Everyone quieted down at the sight of the woman, face-down in a growing puddle of her own blood and with an axe embedded into her head. Even Gregor, who had yet to succeed in his attempts to unlock psychic powers of fowl-kinesis, paused in his intense concentration to look at what was essentially his closest friend on the bus.

The moment that Heathcliff and Ishmael (possibly sharing a single alcohol-soaked braincell in perfect sync in that moment) cheered in victory, things descended into their usual chaos. I was readying for the mixed golovnaya bol from both a hangover and an axe to the head I would be feeling from Rodion, when Faust said that it might be best to wait for a bit before I rewound anything. I looked to the Sinners again, and I could see them starting to fall asleep one by one on the seats and floor of the bus. Seemed like the excitement of the drink-off had worn them out once it was done with. Heathcliff and Ishmael in particular were, and I wouldn't believe it myself if it wasn't the same in the morning, cuddling up to each other. Faust, who looked like the least drunk person to have ingested alcohol on the bus, told me an idea that convinced me she was, indeed, the most drunk out of everyone on the bus:

"If the two wake up in the morning, still like that, they wouldn't be able to kill each other because the work day will have started and Vergilius would be there to threaten them into compliance. And if they don't fight over it, Faust believes they may be able to grow a slightly more amicable relationship."

I knew it was a bad idea. I knew I'd probably have to rewind the brains of one or both of them off the bus walls in the morning. But I also felt an almost... mischievous desire to see them fight over drunken cuddles. So I waited.

The high-five Rodya gave me when I finally rewound the time and she got up, sober and significantly less split, only made me more inclined towards the idea.

Was this what people called a "contact high"? Had I gotten drunk off the atmosphere without even a drop of alcohol? Maybe.

Either way it was still funny to watch the two ever-bickering Sinners weigh Vergilius' anger and their own thirst for the other's blood. Vergilius, as always, won out through sheer terror.

———————————————

- I personally believe that stupid arguments among the Sinners is simply a way to relieve stress among them. Once a topic has been sufficiently argued over (and sometimes a weapon has been bloodied), it tends to be forgotten for the most part. One particular encounter in a mental landscape proves to have an argument that is significantly harder to leave behind. Even I find myself with an opinion I'm willing to fight for. Seeing as I would definitely lose against any of the Sinners, however, I choose to keep that opinion to myself. For posterity's sake though, I have attached a few audio recordings I got while testing the recording function of my PDA.

It was right after we had finished up with Eunbong's Bar & Fryers. Complementary chicken buckets from Bodhisattva Chicken being delivered to us as we were parked out in Nest 11, the Sinners were discussing what we'd just gone through. Someone then brought up how weird it was when we weren't fighting - why were the murderous raw chickens dancing the night away in tango? And on that note, why were there two K Corp. Security Staff members arguing over chicken?

The first thing that clued me in that things were about to go south was when Gregor said it was a stupid argument to have, since the breast was the obvious answer. The quiet that fell after that statement was split into two camps - silent agreements and a wordless disgust. It didn't last for long, either.

"Greg, babe, surely you're joking~? How could a dry-as-a-bone piece of meat with almost no taste be the best part?"

"Uh, no? Breast is the better part, even if you don't finish it one sitting you can easily put it into a sandwich because it's boneless."

"Bloody Hell are you blatherin' on about? Didn't you say you were a sailor, what's the last time a salty git like you had a sandwich, much less with chicken? 'Course leg meat is where it's at."

"Chicken breast is a much healthier meal, even when it's fried, and is rich in proteins we would need for optimal performance in our tasks."

"...TINC. The best part... is the spicy wings."

"Uhm... I have to agree with her... Spicy wings are the best part..."

"...The breast meat is the part of the chicken that contains the pure essence of the bird. The thigh and wings are merely riding off the inherently addictive taste of animal grease."

"Forsooth! Is taste not important, nay, paramount even to having a filling feast? Thusly, the legs are the best, for they are both filling and delectable! As an expert in this field, Monsieur, wouldn't you agree?"

"...I would not. I would choose the spicy wings."

"Ah, I must agree! Of all the commoner chicken dishes, I must say the heavily-spiced wings were the most interesting!"

"I cannot believe I'm agreeing with two of the incompetents who have brought the most derailment to our missions thus far, but the leg is by far the obvious choice for the top of a chicken bucket."

Everything only devolved from there. Separated into three equal camps, the Sinners looked to me, Vergilius and Charon. Thankfully, I had the perfect excuse not to participate:

<Don't look at me, I can't eat and I don't remember what I preferred beck when I could.>

That was a lie in service of my long-term survival and good relations. I don't necessarily remember, but I know in my heart what I'd pick.

Vergilius didn't make any remark on the scene, but his calm expression was nothing but terrifying to the Sinners. His eyes glowing a burning crimson likely aided in that. Charon, meanwhile, pointed towards the Bongy Plushie she claimed for herself earlier. Everyone decided not to argue about that not counting, on account of Vergilius glaring hard at the first person who opened their mouth.

As with many disputes between the Sinners, there was a tense few minutes as people argued. At first it was only Heathcliff and Ishmael, which nobody batted an eye at - the two were ready to fight at the drop of a hat.

It took 5 minutes for the first hit to be thrown and the first body to fall, as Outis dodged Gregor's downward swing with the sound of breaking glass, and faster than the former G Corp member could react she had a sword plunged into his sternum, followed immediately by a shot to the heart. There was a second of pause, followed by a glance to Vergilius... who had left to get back onto the bus. Nobody bothered to look at my direction for instructions, and the first to unpause was Ishmael. The result was a harpoon lodged in Outis' stomach, followed by her being dragged over to the Breast Brigade (I just thought of that name for the side that preferred the taste of white meat and I'll roll with it) before promptly being launched back to the Thigh Troops. All Hell broke loose after that.

By the time that the chicken delivery came, things were winding down. The delivery man came just in time to see Meursault, caked in blood, with a stray intestine draped over his shoulder and an axe in his chest, popping Rodya's skull between his gauntlet-clad hands like an overripe melon. The stoic Sinner was the last survivor, but I'm unsure if that means that the Spicy Wings Special Operatives won. I could tell that the newcomer was currently short-circuiting from the scene, and since I couldn't tell anything to him anyways, I turned to Meursault.

<Could you call Vergilius to get the chicken? I need to start rewinding.>

The expressionless Sinner nodded, then moved like he didn't have an axe stuck into his lung. Looking at Mr. Delivery, there was an awkward silence. I waved at him. He waved back, much slower. And then Vergilius got off the bus, foldable table under one arm, and I could hear a thud inside, which I attributed to Meursault expiring.

Likely recognizing the Color, the bringer of chicken seemed to become so confused he circled right back to understanding the situation perfectly. After our guide unfolded the table so that the poultry could be loaded onto it, the delivery man left the boxes on it so that Vergilius could confirm the order was correct. After that was cleared up, it was just me, The Red Gaze, and a whole lot of dead bodies.

As I readied an injection of painkillers, I let out a sigh (it came out as a quiet alarm ring) from the events that just transpired. The entire argument seemed silly to me, I mean the answer is obvious.

Chicken's chicken, duh.

And it's not as good as a Beef Burger with the works.