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You are twenty two when a man that calls himself “Zero Order” waltzes up to you with syrupy sweet words on his tongue and confidence you usually attribute to the likes of kings and princes.
His appearance is well groomed and certainly matches; short and curly black hair, a matching black tailored suit with no wrinkles, and white gloves. His face—and therefore identity— is obscured by a white mask almost as tacky as his nickname. He looks too flawless to be human.
It would be apt to describe him as a living doll, except you’re quite sure he’s trying his best and it would be rude to point out the mistakes he’s making unprompted. Seeing you’re not convinced, he tries to smile kindly, a gentle gesture meant to lower your guard, except for the fact that when he tries to smile like C: , it comes out to look more like a [: .
Cruel in a way you suppose he can’t help. The edge it has is too sharp for his smile to be anything but carefully crafted, drilled into himself until it becomes second nature and he can’t smile in any way except the way he’s learned to.
Jagged with too sharp edges. You think if he pulled back his lips, you would see teeth sharpened into points, made to tear into flesh and bone.
Not the smile that would make someone want to bow down. Instead, it makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand up and your gut yell at you to runrunrunrunrun-
-which probably isn’t the intended effect, for this situation, that is. What sort of incompetent recruiter would want to scare off possible employees?
Running would be the smart choice here.
A fourth circle mage that has nearly completed their fifth circle like you, should be able to escape even the grasp of a Lexure mage. The only problem is that his smile gives you the impression that he’s an Impera mage, and you have basically no chance against a 6th circle mage.
Fight, flight, fawn and freeze. You will have to do good on your namesake, it seems.
Like a fool, you had thought your streak of fawning over others and throwing yourself to their feet would be over once you completed your fourth circle. You should’ve known better.
What does he want from you? Something about the sun?
Amira, how do you feel about my offer? He tilts his head, that disturbing smile still plastered on his face. It does a good job at keeping people away, you’ll give him that.
His voice is sickly sweet, too artificial and belittling to resemble anything natural. He intends for it to lower your guard, perhaps.
To lure you in like an ant to sugar, tempted by the idea of a meal. His intended smile could be aptly described as a pitcher plant that secretes sweet nectar that makes you slip and fall into the pitcher so it can eat.
You’re still an ant. Always an ant. Always dancing along someone’s palm, playing the role that’s been set for you. Follow the others, be a good worker. Bow your head and follow the directions that you’ve been given.
The “smile” he has on his face reminds you more of a snarl. The way a wild animal lowers itself and bares its teeth before it pounces. Almost resembling a smile, if you squint. Unnatural and off putting, too sharp and angular.
Pay for my meal and I’m in, you decide to play along, Oh, and call me John Doe.
A blessing to you, perhaps. It’s too bad you’ll walk into the pitcher anyways, following the pheromone trail of those that came before. Was there any other option for you, in the first place?
———————
You are twenty three when you are startled so much that you trail off and lose your train of thought while giving a mission report to your boss, Zero Order.
He notices, of course, and he tilts his head, never asking. The smile on his lips quirk up, and your unease only grows further. You’ll give anyways. He knows as much. No point in asking when you’ll always receive. Time wasted can never be earned back.
Though you wasted valuable seconds while doing so, you do indeed manage to pinpoint what has startled you so.
When you were twenty two, you had been greeted with your leader’s smile that looked something like, :] , which startled you so badly it had made you want to escape your own skin.
It seems history does take inspiration from its past experiences, as now you are twenty three, and your leader’s smile has yet again knocked you off kilter.
Not in the same way it did last year. You specified that it took inspiration, after all. What caught you so off guard was how soft it looks now, compared to what you remember from the last you’ve seen of him.
A week ago, he smiled like :] no matter what. It was ever present on his face and when you had to be near him, your urge to run was only slightly beat down by your instinct to throw yourself down to his feet and make yourself less of a target.
Getting comfortable has always been a vice, and yet it seems against all your logic, you had grown used to that sort of smile. Now he smiles like :) , and you can’t quite tell if it’s an improvement.
Ever improving I see, boss. As expected, I have more to learn from you, you finally answer bowing.
Zero Order lazily gestures for you to stand straight again with his left hand and gingerly touches his smile with his right. He doesn’t seem to notice what he’s doing until his hand makes contact with his skin. Startled out of his reverie, he quips, Are you saying that my previous smile was lackluster?
In this situation, it’s better for you to be reverent but firm. With all due respect, please don’t hear what I didn’t say, you tilt your head towards him.
When he next speaks, you can’t help but notice just how much better his act has become. More free and loose with his movements, no longer scared that one stray move will bring about his downfall.
Very well. Go on.
——————
You are twenty five when your boss gives you a mission to infiltrate Ceoren with directives to take your idol as inspiration when crafting “your” fake identity.
Not explicitly did he tell you to do so—your life would be much simpler if Zero Order was that open about his wants or needs—, but there were four throwaway lines about him, and four is a pattern too blatant to ignore.
Here’s what you’ve picked up: once or twice can be a coincidence. A stray topic on his mind that can be disregarded as Zero Order talking to himself. Three is a sign to keep an eye out. Four is as good as a direct order.
And so, like any good subordinate, you make sure that “Ludger Cherish” looks less like who you are now, and more like the man you wish to become.
On your last face-to-face meeting with your boss, he smiles at you like C: and then you know the final nail in your coffin has been put in place.
You have tried and tried to ignore the growing similarities in how you smile, and how Zero Order now smiles when in private with you. It seems you can ignore the truth no longer,
The smile on his face matches the one you flash to the target when on assassination missions that require you to get close to the victim. It’s not like you’re surprised, exactly. You’re an ant, and Zero Order is a pitcher plant. He’s allowed to you lick some nectar, but he needs to extract an equal price from you.
Instead of dubbing him the devil, the church should call him something like the grim reaper. For you, it seems the only thing worth that price is your life.
And who are you to refuse him what he so obviously craves?
How are you to alleviate the guilt that weighs on his shoulders so heavily? How can you pay him back, just the slightest bit more before you can do so no longer?
Extracting what’s due has always been your speciality. It doesn’t matter that the target is yourself, really. You’re just doing your job.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
Your lips quirk up to form a smile like :> and then you adopt “Ludger Cherish’s” boyish demeanor. Then I’ll be off, boss! Be sure to greet me, yeah? Don’t be a stranger!
Then you sharpen your smile, turning it into something like [: . Take your time, sir. I’ll have all the time in the world once I’m there.
Zero Order startles, and his shoulders straighten out. He barks out a laugh, As expected of my First Order. Now get going already. His lips twitch downwards, and for a second, he looks almost forlorn. Then he fixes his expression, but his eyebrows tug downwards as he smiles softly.
Wait for me, dear.
Maybe in his eyes, you’re already in the casket, dressed in your finest suit and dolled up to look presentable even in death.
Maybe, you had already been dead all those years ago, when he first curled his lips up in a snarl that he meant to make imitate a smile.