Chapter Text
Raphael tugged the conductor’s cap down over his head and smoothed the scratchy uniform with a scowl in front of the mirror in his boudoir.
Of all the indignities he had expected after dying in his own damned house, this was most certainly not one of them.
Today was his first day as a conductor for the BTC (Baldur’s Gate Transit Commission). Why? As his punishment, of course. Mephistopheles had found it fitting to make him serve the mortals beneath him to reflect on his pitiful death in Avernus.
He was supposed to be there with Haarlep as his emotional support incubus, but Haarlep was nowhere to be found. The incubus had simply left a message promising to ‘meet him there later’, since they had ‘an urgent business to attend to at Sharess’ Caress’. Whatever that meant.
Raphael clicked his teeth in irritation. Apparently punctuality was now a virtue he was expected to cultivate alone.
With a loud crack, he arrived at their assigned post: Rivington Station, perched on just right on the West end of the Greater Baldur’s Gate Area.
Before him were the rails for a trolley built with Infernal Iron, forking into two paths: Lower City and Upper City.
Between the tracks was a control booth… Well, it’s more of a control shed.
It was then when he heard a sharp crack that split the air behind him, followed by spits of fire and smoke.
Raphael turned just in time to see a familiar cambion; silvery-blue skin, flaming orange hair, step out of the smoke… wearing a blazer… and holding a clip board?
“Ah! Welcome to your work family here at the Baldur’s Gate Transit Commission!” Mizora beamed, smiling brightly.“And just like a true family, your fate is in our hands!” She continued, although her eyes were unsettlingly unfocused.
Raphael arched an eyebrow. Something was off, but he couldn’t exactly put his finger on it.
“Today marks your first shift with the Baldur’s Gate Transit Commission, trainee!” she announced in a sing-song cadence that sounded suspiciously more and more like a training video. “As your district manager, HR representative, payroll administrator, and direct supervisor, I am here to begin your onboarding!”
“Just tell me what to do,” Raphael muttered, rolling his eyes. “You don’t need to keep saying the full name of the company. BTC is fine.”
The image of Mizora gave him an apologetic shrug. “As I am merely a simulacrum of Mizora herself, I am incapable of altering the script in any way.”
Ugh. Raphael knew that a migraine was already brewing.
“Before we begin, please remember: the Baldur’s Gate Transit Commission is an important investment in our mistress Zariel’s personal retirement fund—,”
Hold on. Retirement fund?
“Why?” Raphael cut in.
The simulacrum pursed her lips as though annoyed that her script allowed for questions.
“It should not surprise anyone that running an army to fight the Blood War does not pay enough to contribute meaningfully to one’s RRSP (Registered Retirement Savings Plan).”
Raphael blinked.
Perhaps Asmodeus should consider a federal-level pension plan. To improve the retention of Archdevils and all of that. Lessen the potentials of conflicts of interest…
… he could even call it the BRSP. Imagine, Baator’s Retirement Savings Plan: The Only Retirement Plan With a 0% Chance of Early Withdrawal.…
… Or even better, Asmodeus could offer a regular savings account as well. Like a TFSA! (Taxed Fiend Savings Account: Now With 30% More Arbitrary Fees!)
Raphael nodded solemnly as he made a mental note for when he ascended to his rightful station as the Supreme Archdevil.
“Anyway!” Mizora chimed, sweeping toward the control booth. “Your task is to direct the trolleys between the Lower City line and the Upper City line. Very simple!”
A voice drifted in from the side. “Is there a break lever somewhere? In case, you know, someone falls onto the tracks?”
Raphael turned to find Haarlep standing beside him, dressed exactly as they would be in the House of Hope… skimpy as ever, no uniform in sight.
“No,” the simulacrum said cheerfully. “We did not have the budget for that.”
That made Raphael snap out of his ogling of the incubus’ skimpy outfit.
“However, as we understand unexpected situations may occur, please do your best to minimize casualties. Our shareholders are counting on you!”
“Alright, alright. That’s enough of you,” Raphael growled, physically pushing the simulacrum out of the booth.
But Mizora merely straightened her blazer and lifted a finger.
“The happier our shareholders are—the happier I am with your work—the sooner you get to escape this incredibly specific hell of a job that had been constructed just for you.”
Raphael rolled his eyes as Haarlep snickered.
“So,” the simulacrum smiled, although it absolutely did not reach her eyes. “Are you ready to uphold the motto of Baldur’s Gate Transit Commission? Say it with me now, trainee!”
Raphael rolled his eyes before he recited the motto in the most monotone voice imaginable:
“Devilish Reliability. Mortal Survivability.”
“Wonderful!” Mizora clapped. “Now, good luck on your first day at the Baldur’s Gate Transit Commission, boys!”
With a loud crack, she was gone.
Raphael pinched the skin between his brows.
Today’s gonna be a long day.
“Well,” Haarlep purred beside him, stretching like they were about to enjoy a leisurely afternoon instead of a catastrophic morning of navigating a privatized public service. “Shall we see what horrors this incredibly specific job has for us?”
Raphael grunted as he sat on the wooden chair.
In front of him was a panel with a screen that he would assume to be what would provide him with the necessary context to make decisions with.
Above the lever was a note that was hastily printed using a Brother P-Touch PTD210BK label maker.
PRIMARY TRACK DIVERSION: TOUCH ONLY IN EXTREME NECESSITY!
It was then when he heard the first trolley of the morning humming in the distance, rattling along the track with all the stability of a drunk bulette. Raphael glanced at the schedule that was showing on the small screen on his panel.
Lower City Express. No Scheduled Stops. Do Not Interfere Unless Threat Level Reaches ‘Catastrophic.’
Raphael arched a brow at the choice of word.
A moment passed.
Then, all of a sudden, the alarm blared.
“OBSTRUCTION DETECTED. OBSTRUCTION DETECTED.”
Haarlep pressed their face to the glass window, delighted. “Oh! How exciting. Something’s on the tracks!”
Raphael looked out the window.
His sight was met with a group of four adventurers, backs turned, completely unaware, walking along the trails of the tracks.
Raphael tensed. “Who… in the Hells… are those idiots on the tracks?!”
The panel helpfully added subtext for Raphael: THE SAVIOURS OF BALDUR’S GATE ON THEIR WAY TO THE EPILOGUE PARTY.
“Oh, now that’s just unfortunate,” Haarlep cooed. “Whatever shall we do?”
Raphael considered taking advantage of the perfect set up for revenge right then and there…
…until he saw the Avatar of Jergal himself walking quietly behind the group.
Ugh.
He was absolutely not going to gamble with his death for the second time.
But as his hand reached for the lever to divert the trolley, another indicator lit up to his right.
“OBSTRUCTION DETECTED ON THE SECONDARY TRACKS.”
“What now?” he hissed, looking up to see through the window in front of him.
This time, he saw… MIZORA?!
Haarlep let out a mad giggle. “Ha! What a cliché setup!”
Raphael glared at the panel, too caught up in the moment. Mizora’s words echoed through his mind.
“So my options are,” Raphael thought out loud, “Barrel straight into four idiots, five if you count the Avatar of Jergal himself, or kill my literal supervisor who has my literal fate on her hands.”
The trolley rumbled closer, suggesting that it was not slowing down.
To kill his supervisor (even if she would be revived back in Avernus) was to kill his own chances of getting out of this very specific hell.
But to kill the group of idiots PLUS the Avatar of Jergal himself? Now even Raphael knew better than to mess with the ex-Lord of the Dead himself.
Raphael swore under his breath. “This is impossible! To minimize casualties is to kill one to save the five, right? That’s the option that produces the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people. Least lives harmed?”
Haarlep’s tail flicked playfully behind them. “Ah, utilitarianism. How very John Stuart Mill of you.”
Raphael shot them a look, annoyed. “Do you have a better idea?!”
“Well,” Haarlep hummed, “You could take the Kantian approach.”
“No.”
“Oh, but imagine it,” Haarlep said dramatically, clasping their hands together. “An absolute rule! A divine categorical imperative! You do not use people as a means to an end. Therefore, you cannot deliberately kill Mizora, even if it saves more lives.”
Raphael glared at the incubus, “That also means that even if I kill the five, I am still using her for my own gain to get out of this situation!”
“Well, that’s just philosophy.”
“That’s stupid!”
“Or!” Haarlep pointed at him, “You could indulge in Aristotle’s virtue ethics. Ask yourself: what would a good conductor do? What action cultivates the ideal conductor?”
Raphael stared at them in disbelief. “A good conductor would have a working brake lever!”
“Mm,” the incubus nodded thoughtfully, “Yeah, fair enough. I can’t argue with that.”
The vibrations of the trolley creeped closer.
“Look,” Raphael said, gripping the lever, “the utilitarian choice is the only rational option. One cambion versus four idiots—,”
“Plus a god,” Haarlep added.
“Plus a god that can literally resurrect people!” Raphael hissed. “Exactly!”
“Or, perhaps you ought to consider inaction.”
“What?” Raphael's hand froze. “How is that even following the one rule of minimizing casualties?!”
“Inaction,” Haarlep repeated, leaning dramatically against him. “… is the same as non-interference. Let the trolley go where it was already headed. That way you aren’t actually the cause of the casualties; you simply… just allow the universe to unfold. In terms of your hands, to do nothing, is to ensure that you absolutely caused zero casualties.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense!” Raphael snapped. “How can someone do nothing and still not have blood on their hands?!”
“Does it not?” Haarlep tilted their head. “But why? Isn’t it just what we devils do? I’m sure that you never lost any sleep over any souls you didn’t know to take advantage of, now, did you?”
“To not choose is still a choice!”
Raphael felt his jaw clench, and looked up the window. None of the six idiots who decided to hang out near the trolley tracks have moved.
Hells, even a certain wizard in a purple robe had decided to coax a pigeon to join him with a biscuit for some reason.
“So. What will it be, my little conductor?” Haarlep cooed, “Utilitarianism? Kant? Virtue ethics? Or my personal favourite, Egoism?”
Raphael’s hands hovered over the lever.
The trolley screeched closer, metal screaming against metal.
Raphael’s heart slammed in his chest.
Wait.
Hold on.
Raphael pointed at the tracks. “Why is Mizora tied to the tracks supervillain-style? Who tied her there?!”
Haarlep pressed a finger to their lips, feigning thoughtfulness. “Hmm. Hard to say. Could be a union issue… or debt issue. It could even be because she just… likes it.”
Raphael’s face twisted at the image that was conjured in his mind.
The trolley shrieked ever closer. The five beings on one track continued doing absolutely nothing to save themselves. The devil supervisor on the other wiggled dramatically like she was auditioning for a damsel-in-distress pantomime.
“This is a nightmare!”
“Technically, it is a privately funded transit system that should have been publicly funded. But yeah, it is a nightmare.”
Raphael let out a strangled, paralyzed, noise.
The trolley was seconds away.
“Right!” Haarlep sang suddenly. “If you can’t decide, then let me help!”
Raphael’s eyes shot open in horror. “DON’T YOU DA—!”
Too late.
Haarlep reached out with a single clawed hand…
…and lightly flicked the lever.
The lever popped off entirely, clattering to the floor.
“…Haarlep,” Raphael whispered, eyes wide in disbelief. “What have you DONE?”
“I simply helped,” Haarlep smiled sweetly.
The console sputtered, sparked, and then…
BZZZZZZTTTRTTRTRT—
Every panel lit up at once. Then flickered before powering off. Suddenly, it all lit back up again
A cheerful, far-too-peppy voice burst from the speakers:
“BALDUR’S GATE TRANSIT COMMISSION!”
“SYSTEM ERROR DETECTED.”
“REVERTING TO SAFE MODE.”
Raphael jerked his head up. “Safe what? What’s a safe mode?!”
Haarlep grinned.
A metallic clank echoed across Rivington as the emergency protocol triggered.
Every switch on the entire track network snapped into a third position that Raphael didn’t even know existed.
A hidden track emerged from the gravel.
The trolley, shrieked as it slid down the newly activated path, and missed BOTH groups of idiots. Before the trolley turned into…
… an ox…?
…
The ox slid down the tracks as if nothing had happened, its legs halted down to a slow gallop before disappearing into the patches of forests surrounding Rivington.
…
…how strange.
Raphael stared as Mizora wiggled herself off the rails, before snapping the ropes away, dusting off her suit and adjusting her hair as if it was just all part of a big, insane plan.
The adventurers continued on their merry way, completely oblivious to everything that had just happened.
Raphael slowly sank into his chair, face in his hands.
Haarlep beamed and patted his back. “See? Problem solved.”
“I-…,” Raphael groaned. “I don’t know what is going on anymore.”
Haarlep shrugged happily. “The moral of the story is, sometimes some things are simply unsolvable. You don’t always need to have some well-thought out end for a story or scenario, and that’s okay.”
“… but… that still doesn’t explain the ox?”
Before Raphael could argue further, the cheerful speaker voice returned:
“CONGRATULATIONS, TRAINEE! CASUALTIES MINIMIZED! YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED TROLLEY SCENARIO #1.”
“PLEASE PREPARE FOR TROLLEY SCENARIO #2: ‘THE ORC ON THE BRIDGE.’”
Haarlep clapped their hands in delight. “Ooh! A classic!”