Chapter Text
The air in the Brooklyn subway station was thick with artificial fog and the raw, electric energy of 1987. Michael Jackson stood in the center of the concrete floor, his silhouette sharp under the harsh studio lights. His black leather jacket gleamed, its countless silver buckles and zippers clinking softly with every micro-movement.
He was completely in the zone. He took a sharp breath, raised his right hand in its iconic sparkling glove, and prepared to cue his dancers for the final, explosive sequence of the "Bad" music video.
He snapped his fingers.
But the expected heavy bassline didn’t blast from the studio speakers. Instead, a deep, sub-atomic vibration rattled through the floorboards. The white fog from the machines suddenly turned a violent, swirling neon purple.
Michael blinked, freezing mid-pose. The graffiti-covered subway walls began to bend and ripple like liquid wax. The ceiling stretched upward into an infinite black void, and the studio lights twisted into long, blinding streaks of cosmic light.
"What in the world...?" Michael whispered, his voice echoing unnaturally.
Before he could take a step, reality itself tore open right beneath his loafers. The gravity reversed, and with a sudden, silent vacuum snap, Michael fell backward into a vortex of swirling purple smoke, completely vanishing from the face of the Earth.
*-*-*-*-*
Michael gasped, his lungs burning as he slammed harmed against the grass.
He groaned, slowly pushing himself up. His heavy black leather jacket crinkled sharply, the silver buckles clinking together like tiny bells in the quiet. He adjusted his aviator sunglasses, his pulse racing as he looked around. This wasn't the subway station. The sky above was blue, and he is in the forest somewhere. He was entirely alone.
"Where... where am I?" he whispered, his voice soft, breathy tremor.
Suddenly, a strange weight materialized right in the palm of his right glove.
Michael flinched, pulling his hand closer to his chest. He looked down, expecting a piece of fallen debris. Instead, his breath caught in his throat.
Sitting in his palm was a tiny, exquisitely detailed figure made of pristine, unblemished ivory dough. She wore flowing, ghostly white robes(traditional hanfu), a massive floor length veil with hanging wheat tassels, and a diamond shape white gemstone with intricate golden accents, nestled directly on top of her head. It's Mystic Flour Cookie. Even in this tiny, shrunken state, an intense, unnaturally frigid aura of absolute nothingness radiated from her, bleeding through his leather glove.
Michael Froze. He was a man who lived and breathed raw emotion, yet looking at her felt like staring straight into an endless, frozen abyss. It terrified him, but his deeply empathetic nature immediately overrode his fear.
"O-oh dear," Michael murmured, his voice dropping into a gentle, protective whisper. He carefully brought his other hand up, cupping his fingers around her like a fragile bird to shield her from the wind. "Are you alright? Did you... did you fall from somewhere?"
Slowly, the tiny cookie in his palm shifted. Mystic Flour Cookie opened her eyes. They were completely devoid of color, soft grey with bright white with vertical pupils. She did not panic. She did not gasp. She simply looked up at the towering Human holding her, her face a mask of serene, dead apathy.
She looked at his wild, glossy black jheri curls falling over his face. She looked at the heavy, aggressive black leather and metal straps adorning his frame.
"How exhausting," Mystic Flour spoke. Her voice didn't sound small; it echoed inside Michael's head like a hollow, freezing wind blowing through a desolate mountain peak. "Even in shattered realm, I am greeted by the loud, heavy clatter of worldly attachment. Tell me human... why do your eyes burn with useless anxiety?"
Michael's eyes widened behind his sunglasses. He blinked rapidly, a deep blush creeping up his neck. He was completly flustered, both by her eerie majesty and the sheer strangenesd of the situation.
"I-I'm sorry," Michael stuttered politely, his thump twitching slightly against her white Porcelein like sleeve. "I didn't mean to offend you, ma'am. I just... I thought you were hurt."
"Hurt is an illusion of those who still choose to feel," Mystic Flour replied, her tiny, ghostly sleeves drifting passively in his palm as she stared up into his soul. "You are drowning in fear, grief, and a desperate longing for home. Let it go. Return to nothing and find peace."
Michael stared down at her, his heart aching with a sudden profound sadness. He didn't know who she was, but he instantly picked up on the terrifying loneliness hiding beneath her cold words.
"No," Michael whispered softly, a quiet, fierce determination entering his eyes as he held her a little closer to his chest. "I won't let go. And I am not going to leave you behind in a place like this, either"
Mystic Flour Cookie remained perfectly still, her empty grey gaze locked into his. For a Beast of Apathy, this stubborn, leather-clad human was a loud, chaotic puzzle she couldn't quite comprehend.
Michael stood frozen in the forest, still cupping the tiny, Frozen form of Mystic Flour Cookie in his gloved palm. Her vacant, empty grey eyes stared up into his soul, her chilling words about "returning to nothing" still echoing in his mind.
Before Michael could even whisper a response, a massive, thunderous crash echoed from the bushes just twenty feet away.
"Ugh! Son of a—!" a loud, incredibly irritated voice yelled out from the bushes. "Javier! Javier, where the hell are we? Did the Bedrock collapse again? I swear to god, If my construction permits got wiped out by another random magic portal, I am goinh to sue the entire kingdom!"
Michael flinched, pulling the tiny Mystic Flour closer to his chest to protect her. He watched as a young man with messy brown hair and a uniquely... expressive, borderline villainous face stumbled out of the bushes, coughing and shaking dirt off his robes. Right behind him, stepping elegantly out of the debris without a single speck of dirt on him, was strikingly handsome, silver haired knight wielding a massive sword.
"Young Master, please calm down," Javier said, his voice smooth, deadpan, and utterly exhausted. "Your face is contorting into that terrifying exoression again. We are clearly no longer in the county."
Lloyd didn't listen. His eyes were scanning in the forest. but then, his gaze locken onto the figure standing infront of a tree.
He saw the pitch black, glossy jheri curls. The silver buckle. The iconic black leather jacket. The aviator sunglasses.
Lloyd froze. His jaw dropped so low it nearly hit the grass. His eyes went completely wide.
"Young Master?" Javier asked, instantly gripping the hilt of his sword, sensing danger. "is that an enemy? He is wearing an absurd amount of metal fasteners."
"Javier... shut up," Lloyd whispered, his voice trembling with a level of religious awe Javier had never heard before. "Shut your beautiful, talented mouth right now."
With a dramatic, desperate sprint, Lloyd scrambled over the grass, entirely ignoring his own aching bones. He slid on his knees across the dirt, stopping precisely three feet infront of Michael, his hands clasped together as if praying to a god.
"OH MY GOD! IT'S HIM! THE KING!" Lloyd wailed, tears streaming down his face as he looked up at Michael. "MICHAEL JACKSON! IN THE FLESH! THE BAD ERA! HEE-HEE!"
Michael blinked rapidly behind his sunglasses, completely startled by the sudden, intense outburst. He took a small step back, his polite shyness kicked in "O-Oh! Um... hello there. Are you alright sir? That was a nasty fall..."
"He spoke to me," Lloyd gasped, clutching his chest and looking like he was about to faint from joy. "The smooth criminal himself asked if I'm alright. Javier, record this! Write this down in the county archives!"
Javier stepped forward, completely unamused, his gaze moving from Lloyd's pathethic kneeling form up to Michael. "Young Master, who is this eccentric man? And why is he dressed like a high fashion brigand?"
"He's not a brigand, you uncultured knight!" Lloyd snapped, instantly turning his terrifying, demonic scowl onto Javier. "He is the greatest singer to ever walk on earth! If he asks you to moonwalk, you moonwalk, understand?!"
From the safety of Michael's palm, a cold, hollow sigh echoed directly into everyone's minds.
"How profoundly noisy," Mystic Flour Cookie spoke, her head turning slightly to look at Lloyd with absolute, soul crashing apathy. "Another creature bound by the exhausting illusions of obsession and worship. What a pathetic display of worldly attachement."
Lloyd's manic fanboy energy instantly halted. He blinked, looking down at Michael's hand. His eyes narrowed as he processed the tiny white cookie radiating an aura of pure nihilism.
"Wait..." Lloyd muttered, his capitalistic, survival focused engineering brain suddenly overriding his fanboy settings. "What the hell is that? is that a talking cookie?"
Javier's eyes sharpened, his hand tightening on his sword as he felt the heavy, unnatural weight of her apathy. "Young Master step back. That creature... isn't normal."
Michael gently adjusted his grip, standing his ground as the heavy silver buckles on his jacket clinked. Despite his shyness, his protective nature took over. "Please, don't hurt her," Michael said softly but firmly, looking at Javier. "She's... she's with me. We just got here, too."
Lloyd remained on his knees, his face shifting rapidly between starstruck tears and utter confusion as he stared at the tiny, chilling white cookie resting in the King of Pop's gloved palm.
Javier stepped between Lloyd and Michael, his hand remaining steady on the pommel of his sword. His sharp, silver blue eyes scanned Michael's heavy leather buckles before dropping to the tiny entity.
"Young Master, get off the ground," Javier ordered calmly, his deadpan voice cutting through heavy atmosphere. "You are embarrassing to the county. If we are to survive this place, we need proper introductions. Not... whatever it is you are doing."
Lloyd cleared his throat loudly, scrambling back to his feet and brushing the dirt off his trousers. He instantly shifted his spine into his perfect, aristocratic posture, though his eyes still shimmered with unhinged fanboy energy.
"Right. Protocol," Lloyd said, puffing out his chest. He gave Michael a deep, overly dramatic bow— the kind reserved only for emperors or high ranking dukes. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lloyd Frontera, eldest son of Frontera County. Civil engineer, and more importantly, your absolute biggest fan in this or any other dimension, Mr. Jackson."
Michael blinked, a soft, genuinely touched smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Oh well... thank you, Lloyd," Michael said his voice dropping into that sof, breathy whisper. "It's very nice to meet you. You can just call me Michael"
He took a step forward, executing a flawless, rigid knight's salute. "My name is Javier Asrahan. I am the bodyguard and sworn knight assigned to keep this idiot from getting himself killed. I apologized for his lack of decorum, Sir Michael. He lacks a filter."
"It's alright Javier," Michael murmured gently, offering a warm reassuring nod. "I'm used to people being a little excited. I'm just glad you two are okay after that fall."
From the safe hollow of Michael's palm, a sudden, freezing draft of air swept through the forest. The tiny Ivory figure shifted, her flowing sleeves rippling as she stood up on his leather-clad glove. Her empty, colorless eyes locked onto Lloyd and Javier.
"Names are merely anchors to a world built on Illusions," Mystic Flour Cookie spoke. "I am Mystic Flour Cookie. I am the one who brings rest to the weary. Close your eyes and feel free from your dough..."
Lloyd flinched, his capitalistic, money-driven brain throwing an absolute error code. Just hearing her voice made him feel a sudden, terrifying urge to cancel all his upcoming construction contracts and take a permanent nap in the dirt. He aggresively shook his head to clear the mental fog.
"Okay, Look, Miss Cookie," Lloyd said, pointing a finger at her while deliberately hiding behind Javier's shoulder. "I don't care if you are a sentient cookie. You are currently hitching a ride in the hand of the man who wrote Thriller. You need to lower your existensial dread levels by at least forty percent."
"A futile demand," Mystic Flour replied serenely. She looked back up at Michael, her tiny pale hand lightly resting against the edge of the black leather thumb. "This human carries carries a storm of passion yet he shields me from the noise. He is an anomaly. You two... are merely loud."
Michael's cheeks flushed a bright pink. He subconsciously cupped his other hand a bit more, trying to difuse the tension. "Now, now, let's not fight," Michael pleaded softly, he is trying to keep the peace. "We're all lost here. We should stick together."
Javier looked at Michael, then down at the tiny, terrifying cookie, and finally his unhinged master who was currently trying to see if he could get Michael's autograph on a piece of scrap blueprint paper.
"Young Master," Javier said flatly, rubbing his temples. "We are trapped in a forest with man carrying a sentient pastry. What is the plan?"
Lloyd's face instantly twisted into his trademark, terrifyingly demonic smile— the exact face that usually meant someone's wallet was about to get thoroughly emptied.
"The plan?" Lloyd grinned, his eyes flashing with capitalist genius. "We have the King of Pop and a sentient tranquility cookie . We are going to build the greatest, most profitable entertainment empire this world have ever seen!"
Michael stared at Lloyd's terrifying face, while holding Mystic Flour just a little bit tighter. "Um... Lloyd? Your face is doing something really scary right now..."