V M Multiversal Misadventures.

[Victor Wolfe]

Took about a year but finally finished this mess of an idea, could not have done it without my dear friend Hizrihel for keeping me updated on the goings on on the site and doing me a massive favour with editing stuff. Also would like to give Jeff a shout out for bugging me to get back into things, thank you guys

“I hate it” Victor sighed to himself as he speed jabbed the air, the punches moving with impressive speed and power, but not to the same level they had been a few days ago. Breaking the fusion may have saved his individuality but had come at a steep cost of power. For a few days, every movement had felt heavy and laboured, every reaction as clumsy and slow as an infant, but- always quick to adapt- Victor was getting used to being back in his old body. The drain from defusing felt like nothing more than a bad hangover now.

After the incident the goddess and assassin decided to part ways for now, realising that if they really wanted to reach higher peaks when fused it may have been best to work on themselves first. Nothing was certain, but the pair did feel that it was their own individual limits that held them back from truly mastering the new form they had been working on.

He considered informing his allies of the situation but decided that he would enjoy his time laying low for a little longer. Lest the next great Babylonian disaster start, best to relax and recover before fighting all the evils of the world.

A raucous atmosphere leaking from a nearby sports bar caught Victor's attention, the smell of cheap beer and aftershave covering up the vomit pooling outside from the more lightweight patrons. Walking over to the establishment he peered inside the door past the bouncer to spot some sort of violent event taking place, weirdly one not covered in Pepsi advertisement.

Entering the place the large bouncer turned to the noble, about to open his mouth when he felt a shiver run down his spine, the air almost turning to a soup as he panted trying to force his lungs to work. His mind screamed out to run but his feet were glued to the spot whilst a single tear rolled down his cheek. As his mouth shut the pressure slowly eased off, the hooded figure now out of his sight.

Scanning the room the former emperor looked for a place to sit, the days' entertainment clearly drawing the bloodthirsty of Uruk out as shirtless men with names of what he assumed were their preferred winners spray-painted on some rather unimpressive dad bods. Weaving his way through the cloud of body odour and alcohol, Victor found his way to the one open seat. At the very back of the bar, a two-seater table.

The other chair was occupied by a strangely familiar hooded figure, scribbling away on a pad with coloured pencils laid out on the table. As he approached he noticed that the figure seemed lithe, thin and tall but much like Victor himself, probably somewhat strong. The way they handled the pencil with precision and grace showed an impressive level of dexterity. The stranger’s eyes darted towards the screen occasionally to keep up with the action, a few empty beer mugs functioned as obstacles to keep the assortment of coloured pencils from rolling away.

“Why hello there, may I have the seat, kind sir?” Victor inquired, the hooded man who was now in the middle of sipping at his beer coughed and spluttered, looking away towards the screen and wiping beer from their mouth with the sleeve of their robes.

“Uh? Sorry! Caught me by surprise! What was that?” The stranger continued to avoid eye contact, lowering his hood further causing Victor's eyes to narrow.

“The seat. I require a place to watch the entertainment and this appears to be the only free one.”

“This seat? Are you sure, though I saw one over there…” the hooded figure's eyes did a quick dart across the room to no avail.

“Hm. Oh! This seat is saved for someone else, they will be here any minute now, so sorry but you can’t sit there.” The stranger nodded pleased with himself.

“Wow, it took you two minutes to come up with that one. I guess I will just keep it warm for your friend, don’t want one of these fine inebriated individuals deciding to sit down and forgetting how to get up again.”

Pondering to himself, Victor wondered where they had seen this figure before: the frame, the dexterity, the shifty nature. It all seemed very... “Demetri is that-? No, too tall- can’t be. It's the darndest thing really, for some reason seeing you made me think of a certain thief…”

It all clicked, not a Victor memory but a Sutor one, a slender, sticky-fingered thief, the person who had bumped into them and attempted to steal their daggers. A fiery rage filled the assassin, His eyes darted to survey the situation, he could use one of the empty glasses to try and blind him, then leave a blade in during the ensuing brawl. Or he could wait, follow him home and get him when it's quiet.

He had to know though, who would have the balls to steal from him, what scummy criminal face lurked under that hood, at that moment the crowd in the bar erupted, the stranger's eyes darted to the screen to see the cause of the commotion, and Victor had his chance.

One of the bigger patrons swung an arm back whilst celebrating, using what to the assassin was a slight bump to make it look worse he dived towards the stranger, with one hand grabbing and pulling down the hood and the other summoning a blade beneath his chin.

What he saw gave him pause, the dagger pressed firmly to what he could only describe as a roguish and handsome perfect jawline, the red eyes, and long dirty blonde hair down to shoulder length. A slow grin spread across the mirrored faces of Victor and the now not so stranger.

“Huh, it looks like we have a lot to talk about Mr Victor Wolfe” the assassin chuckled as he removed the knife and took a seat next to his body double.

“Wait… Who is Victor?” The stranger that shared his face replied.

Victor squinted at his doppelganger incredulously. “You? Wait, also me! Us? You know, I should have known this could be a possibility, but I am woefully underprepared- normally I have this all thought out.” The noble pulled out his notebook and proceeded to flick through the pages.

“Uhuh, so I am not going to lie, we do look, and sound, and seem to move very similarly, but my name isn’t ‘Victor’. It's Atticus. Atticus al-Waheed.”

“Ok not to be racist or anything but… You might be paler than I am, what's with the surname? Did you get captured on a mission to a colony and get given that name?”

Atticus rolled his eyes. “If you must know it was probably the best gift I have ever received, a very important man gave it to me.” Atticus puffed out his chest proudly.

“Aw, that's so cute I am very happy for you, other me, when was the wedding?”

“What?! No, I mean I was adopted, I don’t actually know or remember what my birth name would have been, and what is with the ‘other me’ stuff?”

Victor's eyes seemed to glow with a brighter intensity. “Well, how much do you know about multiverse theory?”

 

[Victor Wolfe]

“So this world acts as a gathering point for individuals from across a multiverse? I guess you could say a nexus of sorts?” Atticus pondered whilst staring into his beer, still processing what this strange but oh so familiar figure was preaching.

“I mean that was the last place, but sure? I guess? From what I can tell so far these worlds seem to draw in unique and driven individuals. I know for example that this is not the first time this has happened to me and that whilst fused that my partner was also from a different world.” Victor leaned back staring at the roof of the bar as he reminisced on all that had led him to this point.

“But what would the point be… Oh, gods, we are entertainment, aren’t we? Entertainment for whatever puppet masters brought us here. Makes you wonder if we even have free will in this world eh?” Atticus let out a half-hearted laugh.

“Interesting concept really, especially as we have both likely killed enough people to notice that most of them without fail, will stick to the same routines and patterns with only the environment influencing change.” Victor took a swig of his drink before turning back to his companion.

“It does make things easier that's for sure, guard patterns to sneak in, sleep routines for a quiet kill, favourite cup to make for a quick poisoning and easy escape. But I feel we have also both done enough to know that things can go wrong. Sometimes people do just get impulses.” Atticus leaned forward, his chin resting on his palm.

“Not as much anymore but yes, sometimes a rookie guard who walks too fast and upsets your mapping of the patrols, or a new enchantment triggers a trap you were not aware of, or you break into your target's room only to find that he decided to take a swim and its just his mistress there.” The former emperor gave a wink.

Atti giggled into his beer as he continued on from where Victor left off.

“So you confront her with exactly what her lover is up to, and then promise her the world, but only if she can help you get rid of some evil for the world.”

Victor now grinning once again took over.

“So you hide somewhere in the shadows and wait for her lover to come back in a good mood and ready to do the deed, only to realise that he is the one that is getting penetrated!”

Atticus chimed in again, “And as his body starts to cool on the floor, you grab your new partner in crime and escape, finding them a new identity, and comfortable life!” Victor sprayed beer everywhere, shock filling his face.

“No? You then help her cover the scene and hide the weapon, only to give the locations of the body and the murder weapon to the authorities so that you cover up all the loose ends and get to know that somewhere in a cold jail cell there is some stuck up harlot with delusions of grandeur cursing your very existence.”

As Victor cackled like a hyena Atticus shook his head, his brows furrowed as a look of concern crossed his face.

“Uh so, you have been through a lot huh?” His voice was soft and warm, Victor's mask cracked a little, a glare quickly returning back to his usual smiling expression.

“Don’t look down on me Mister Atticus, some would say that I have been through a lot, but at the end of the day, bad stuff is only bad if you don't learn from it! For example, assassin training taught me to always expect that the other guy is already figuring out how to kill you, so have a plan first and make sure it's always a better one than theirs. Being a test subject taught me that sometimes you have to go through months of torture spending every minute wishing it would end to get the power that you need to succeed. Killing all the other students and researchers taught me that if you really want to get noticed, all you have to do is pile up enough bodies and people will take you seriously! Being Betrayed by the imperial family taught me that you are only safe if you are useful, so better make sure you are the best at what you do! And watching the first place I felt at home in, burn as my friends died around me taught me that so long as Babylonia does not have a galactic monopoly on violence, then we are never safe!”

The bar had gone deathly quiet as Victor, who had in the middle of his speech stood up and gotten louder and louder, was now in the process of hyperventilating, no longer mentally in the bar but trapped in every past battle and failure.

A single tear rolling down his cheek Atticus stood up and embraced his doppelganger. Victor snapped out of his memories as his expression soured into one of annoyance.

“Sh, it's ok I can see you have been through a lot worse than I have. I am really sorry to hear about how you were treated and losing people you care about is always hard. But I want you to come with me, I know a Doctor who has a speciality degree in treating blonds with PTSD, or at least I assumed that is what he wrote his thesis on? I might need to fact check that. But the offer is there.”

Atticus started to shiver, the room wasn’t this cold when he came in but he could swear he felt a chill run down his spine, backing away slowly he was met with an icy glare from his counterpart.

“Come with you?! Leave behind years of work to build up the ideal of a state under King Gilgamesh, abandon the one cause I have and seek out help from a quack like a moody teen that can't deal with their feelings?! Listen, Atti was it? I get it! You are a coddled, soft, weakling idealist who just wants to experience the simple things, joy, love… I don’t know what else simpletons like, children's card games? Anyways, I have a galaxy to help conquer, so why don’t you grow up, put away the morality, and help me do it.”

Atticus shaking off the sluggish feeling of the cold that now filled him puffed out his chest and stared eye to eye with his own face, a cocky laugh with an undertone of fake confidence being followed by his own speech. “I am the idealistic one? I just want to not suffer horrendous trauma for an uncaring state, you are the one that wants to bring an end to all conflict by taking over the entire galaxy, it's never going to happen. Stronger people than you have tried and failed, and even if you do succeed what then? Force everyone to live under some morally gray authoritarian empire for all eternity? Either nothing ever changes and you go insane with stagnation, or anything small change to the way things are done causes the universe to break out into mass revolts leading to a similar, if not worse level of violence and destruction than before! And do you want to know something?”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “Oh this ought to be good, enlighten me.”

“I know that you know that too, because you actually studied this stuff, and have been doing the political side of things a lot longer than I have, and if I- from one look at your master plan can see the flaws- you can too. You just keep telling everyone that because it's what your master wants to hear, and what the actual vapid yesmen you surround yourself with actually believe, to prevent the weight of your unreachable standards from crushing you. So once again, come with me, and learn to relax, because you really do need a vacation.” Atticus offered out his hand.

There was a pause whilst Victor looked at the outstretched hand, a haze of emotions flashing across his face before a dark scowl was quickly replaced by the usual grin. “Atticus, if you would be so kind as to step out the back of this bar, there is far too much collateral damage here!”

 

[Victor Wolfe]

The back alleys of Uruk were not exactly a grand arena for what Victor was sure would be an entertaining distraction from the monotony of day-to-day life. But a life-or-death brawl in the streets of New Babylon certainly conjured some images of nostalgia.

“So what is the plan here Victor? Hit me until I submit? Isn’t it more your thing to cling to the visions of those you view as strong because you are too weak to decide your own direction?” Atticus gave a sly wink towards his body double who could only give a dry chuckle.

“I am going to miss that sharp tongue, but no Atti. You have me all wrong, I am going to beat you, then break you, and then kill you. As much as bossing you around could be fun, you are an alternate universe me, and I know how I think. Leaving you alive would be the worst mistake I could make as you would do everything with the utmost level of malicious compliance until you could stab me in the back at the least convenient moment! So you die now.”

The white robed assassin gave an exaggerated shrug and a laugh of his own. “Maybe you do know me a little bit, I wouldn’t do it at the most inopportune time though, would let that happen two or three times so that you trust me and then on the fourth time take the shot.”

Victor raised an eyebrow at the statement, the logic taking a moment to click into place in his own mind.

“Well you would expect it the first time, so can’t do that, you would then expect that I was not betraying you to make it easier to do it later, so can't do it the second time, after that would be third times the charm!” Atticus confirmed, causing Victor to nod in agreement.

“Stop talking, you are just making me regret having to kill you.”

Both parties let out a small sigh. “So, Victor… You are human right?”

“Yes? Are… are you not? Is that why your logic is so messed up? It all makes sense now, you are all peace and love and work out our differences because you have genetic inferiorities from a lesser species! Thank Suwako, it means that not all the Victors across the multiverses are defective, just some of the non-human ones.”

The blistering sun beating down, the sound of the wind blowing sand across the slabs of the back alley, the sound of shoppers on the nearby streets filled the air as Atticus stared down his body double. A burning rage filled his heart, so far his family had been threatened, his life, and now his entire race, and even after all of that, his opponent wouldn’t even pay attention to him. Victor's eyes were currently more interested in a feral cat that was about to corner a mouse.

Bursting forward with blinding pace Atticus forced his fist into the assassin's gut, Victor turning his eyes towards him as he let out a whimper from the pain, a splatter of blood coming from his mouth as Atti continued his assault, an assault of fists quicker than any human would have been able to react slamming into Victor's chest as the satisfying crack of newly broken ribs echoed through the streets.

Falling to his knees unable to stand from the pain, gasping for air but unable to catch his breath Atticus lifted his fellow assassin by the collar. “Superior human genes? But you all are so breakable?” With a twitch of his left hand, a blade shot out from Atticus' wrist through the lower jaw and into the brain of the Lord, his body dropping as Atticus withdrew the bloody blade back into his sleeve.

Victor's body fell backwards, hitting the slabs of the alleyway with a heavy thud as blood spilt from the wound on his neck, a look of serenity on his face as the life left his eyes. The blue and white-clad assassin turned away from the body, he had done what had to be done he supposed, he knew that he could not stay here, this person was clearly of importance to the area, and after killing the only somewhat familiar face here, Atticus wanted to return back to the ship.

The melancholic train of thought was interrupted by a rainbow of light from behind him, as Victor's body faded into light beams, only to regather and reform in the same spot he had been standing before, totally unharmed. Atticus leapt backwards, hidden blade drawn in a defensive stance as Victor stretched his now healed body.

“Okay, how?!?” A slight tingle of dread crept down the assassin's spine, apparently, the multiverse had many different definitions for ‘just a human’ and in Victors, they were able to recover from a knife to the brain.

“I must thank you, I knew they got an upgrade, but even I wasn’t sure if I could survive that amount of brain damage! Who knew, warp healing is unconscious?” Victor gave under his chin a wipe to make sure that it had fully healed, quickly patting down his ribs before his eyes focused on his body double. The look of surprise had now turned into one of confidence as Victor stalked towards the other assassin.

“Now tell me if I am wrong! But judging by the expression, and the questioning of how I did that, it's an ability that you don’t possess, correct?”

“I wouldn’t know, never been brought close enough to death to find out if I can do that.” Atticus retorted with faux confidence and flashed an impish smirk to his ‘twin’. “Considering that it didn’t seem surprising, shall I take it that you die a lot?”

The Babylonian lord shrugged the barb off, much too intent on teaching this wanna-be imposter his place. “Hm, whilst we test that healing rate of yours I will leave you with the solace that I won't touch your face. It would be a shame to break something so pretty.”

The smug confidence from the human-caused Atti to giggle as Victor stalked towards him. “I am going to call your bluff. Even if you can heal I still broke your body, guess I just need to break your spirit along with it.”

Victor stopped in his tracks, the smug smile remaining but his eyes giving off an aura of disinterest. “Listen, Atticus. In my home world, you would be on par with me, in the top two or three assassins in the world and unable to be stopped by anyone other than another top assassin. I would be worried. But this isn’t my world, you are two multiverses too early to fight me. Who knows, maybe when I am about to end you some childish deity will grab you from here, let you get stronger and then I can have half a challenge!” Victor lunged forward as he ended his tirade of taunts.

Sensing an opening Atticus rushed to meet him once again, hidden blade at the ready. As he swung his fists and blade all he found was warm desert air, Victor easily stepped around the assassin, that's when he felt it, a punch aimed directly for his bottom rib connect, the light jab knocked the wind out of his lungs, his reinforced bones reverberating slightly from the blow.

Each time Atticus attempted to hit his body double he only found his blows getting blocked or barely missing the mark. In turn Victor punished the man with stinging punches and swift kicks. If he got out of this alive Atticus knew the bruising wasn’t going to be fun.

“Bored now…” Victor remarked in a disinterested and deadpan tone as he grabbed Atticus by the throat and slammed him into a nearby wall. Atticus clawed at his tormentor's arms to no avail as Victor started to crush down on his throat.

“Is that all the fire you have? Really? All I can really say is I hope your father puts up more of a struggle, would be a shame if your entire family was just as tedious to kill--” Victor suddenly let out a pained scream, a quiet hiss coming from the space between the assassins. Looking down Victor saw the hard-light pistol in his rival's hands, and the smoking burning stump where his left leg used to be.

Atticus shoved the unbalanced Victor backwards onto the dusty ground, leaned down and patted the side of the lord’s good leg. “Better luck next time old chum, you might be quick, but something tells me I have a leg up in this race!” With that he took off towards the main street. All he had to do was get back to his pod and he could advise the command to put Uruk on the no-visits list, class D for douchebag planet, not safe. The openness of the street beckoned him forward until his dreams of escape were interrupted by the distinctly sharp squelch of a blade piercing flesh followed by the slow creep of intense dread climbing up his back.

Everything around him seemed to move faster, the pedestrians on the streets zooming by as if the Uruk Black Friday sales had just started. Atticus turned around, his gaze automatically drawn up and up towards the roofline. Victor was now, somehow, positioned on the sports bar’s rooftop with all his pure burning hatred fully on display.

“To be fair Victor, the leg-up line was pretty funny, right? You have to admit you would make the same joke right? Victor? Come on man you know how this works, we go backwards and forwards with the one-liners!” Atticus pleaded his perception of time slowly returning to normal.

“... KA-ME-HA-ME-HAA!!” The assassin screamed from atop the roof, a beam of light launching from his hands and racing down the alley blowing away garbage cans, old posters, and a lot of the stone that made up the ground they had been fighting on.

Atticus dived for a side alley, narrowly escaping the full brunt of the energy beam. The force from the blast just barely caught his legs and sent him flying into the wall. He almost failed to notice the loud pop of his hamstrings tearing as pure agony radiated from the back of his thigh. He gasped, sucking in a sharp breath in shock. Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew that one particularly misanthropic doctor was going to have a field day with this injury.

“Ow!” From the top of the roof Victor shook himself off, the energy beam required him to brace his entire body lest he be blown away by the backdraft of it. His hands stung as a smoldering layer of burns slowly healed over, his body not used to being able to summon forward the vast amounts of raw energy required for the attack. No matter, now was time to finish up this obnoxious little game. The Lord jumped down from the roof and approached his prey who was making a rather pathetic attempt to crawl away to safety. Oh no, that would simply not do.

“You really are quite sturdy,” Victor remarked snidely as he grabbed Atticus by the ankle and began to drag him off. “That sort of blow back would have given most people more than just some torn hamstrings. A trait of your race?” He questioned, genuine curiosity now present in his voice.

“We have tougher bones and skin than most races, anyways is that all you have got? Not impressed!” Atticus grinned wide, flashing his bloodstained teeth. He would hate for this pompous, sadistic asshole to get even an ounce of joy out of this.



“Actually! No, not all I have actually, I was going to let you off a bit easy but since you did ask for it, oh well~” Vic braced his feet and brought his closed fists up to elbow level, eyes closed and mind intensely focused on drawing power from the earth goddess. The Lord’s body tensed, his hair and aura around him starting to glow a bright gold.

“I… I hate it, why does your power-up have a visual indicator? That's impractical as all hell! Talk about--” Before he could continue his complaining Atticus found himself launched across the alley into the wall again, this time by a running football kick, multiple of his ribs cracking from the impact. Rich purple blood stained the alley floor as Atticus spat and wheezed, the world flickered black for an instant as his pain thresholds were pushed to new heights. The hobbled assassin turned into a giggling mess, a rush of endorphins partially counteracting the pain he was feeling.

And he wasn’t the only one shaken by the blow either. Victor found his vision tunneling into darkness as his muscles began to tremble as he struggled to not fall to his knees, his aura dissipating and hair returning to its normal dirty blond. The cynical Lord was overcome with exhaustion as his healing rate kicked in to restore his worn muscles. Apparently much like fusing with Suwako had done, Victor had pushed the limits of what his body could take with that form, and unlike Sutor the limit for him alone was paltry without the dedicated training to back it up.

The cynical assassin was pulled from his momentary lapse as Atticus grabbed at the back of his thighs and tried to use him as some sort of support pillar to stand. Vic scowled at the tedious audacity of his mimic and his stubborn refusal to just give up already, and when Atti had the gall to brace his hand on Vic’s shoulder the assassin retaliated with another cruel slash that severed the offending limb.

Atticus crumpled back to the ground with an accompanying pair of thuds, and Victor expected to hear a groan or two of agony. He did not, however, necessarily expect the man to peel into a desperate and pained giggle-fit.



“I guess it is funny, isn’t it? Victor mused with a sadistic chuckle. Both of them were covered in dust and blood from head to toe. This entire ordeal was idiotic and tiresome, and at this rate he simply wanted to get it over and done with and be rid of the massive thorn in his side.

“Yeah, how could someone so obsessed with control be so damn unperceptive?” Atticus jibed back. He was holding the stump of his arm as he writhed on the floor.

A look of amused curiosity crossed the assassin's face as, with his one remaining hand, Atticus pressed a button on his belt. As if to spite him on some cosmic order, his body sharply seized up and his world turned black as he fell forwards twitching.

Victor gasped as he regained himself, his face laying on the cool dirt of the alleyway. Instinctually he made to prop himself up on his elbows, eager to put distance between himself and his doppelganger, and whatever other little nasty tricks he had up that one remaining sleeve... But his body failed to respond. A flutter of panic shot through Vic’s chest as he tried yet again to move, and failed. He was paralyzed from the neck down.

From the far end of the alley Atticus’ smarmy, proud little laugh rang out. “Remember when I grabbed your arms? When you were trying to throttle me I put these little sensors on your arms. Did the same to your legs when I crawled over and put one just behind your neck earlier... Shut off the signal to all but your essential organs at the push of a button.”

“So I guess that you are going to kill me now? Oh please,” Victor pled, his voice dripping with malicious insincerity. “I can change my ways!”

Atti groaned, partially out of pain and partially out of tedium over the facetious mirror of a man. “Oh drop the act, why don’t you? One, no you can’t; and two, if I kill you it would break the trap and you would kill me. I’m not as stupid as you think. Instead I am going to take my arm, crawl to safety and we will never talk about this again.”

Victor let out a hearty laugh as he stared down his bloodied opponent from his place in the dirt. “And what makes you think I am not going to just hunt you down and finish the job?”

At that comment, Atticus gently pressed his temple, the integrated AI chip activating silently. The snapping sound of a shutter echoed down the alleyway like the blade of a guillotine. “Because Victor, we both know that you are too proud to admit that I beat you, and I don’t want to deal with the bother of having your friends… er, allies hunt me down. So why don’t we call it a draw, hm? And Victor… Get some help, the sensors will run out in about two days, or when someone that cares removes one from you, so uh, have fun with that~!”

Atticus slowly crawled away, his severed arm still clutched close to his chest. After a few minutes of dragging he finally found himself on the utterly deserted sidewalk and shouted back at the paralysed Wolfe. “OK THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN COOLER IF I COULD HAVE WALKED AWAY, BUT YOU GET THE IDEA!”

 

[Victor Wolfe]

Atticus Al-Waheed reporting in! I decided to scout out a curious little disc world, from what I have seen it flips on its axis like a coin so the inhabited side of the planet goes through twelve-hour day and night cycles! After landing I decided to head to the nearest city I could find and do some research with the locals. The place is called Uruk, and it might be worth visiting.

The city has a few tens of thousands of people and seems to be ruled over by an absolute monarch named Gilgamesh, something of a warrior king if his exploits in something called the Abyss are to be believed. The technology level seems to be a mixed bag, nothing on our level but higher than you would expect from a feudal monarchy, if I had to describe it in one sentence I would say, effective and functional but not flashy. In such a harsh environment most people can’t afford to be wasteful.

This appears to become more extreme the further you get from the centre of the disc with the weather becoming drier and settlements more sparse, the borders being patrolled by mutants, predatory fauna and gangs of techno raiders who decided to max out on the madness stats. Perhaps you could take the blond-in-chief out there one day, clean up the place and let him work out some issues on those psychopaths? Maybe they might find shared interests!

This rule about making sure everything is perfectly functional seems to stop when it comes to the Uruk guards though, bright gold armour all around makes them easy to see, I suppose when you have security cameras everywhere and a plain clothes secret police a visible presence is really all you need though.

If we do decide to visit I would not worry too much about the Orwellian nature of these features though, the secret police? They suck! They keep outing themselves as secret police and since I walked into the city they have not tried to tail me once! One even handed me a report on some local criminals they planned on getting rid of. Maybe it was just that guy's first day!


The reason I do recommend getting in contact with this kingdom however would be that for being such a harsh world, with so many security measures the people seem genuinely happy? There are of course problems but the level of decadence that can be found in the taverns, brothels and other such dens of ill-repute doesn’t scream out totalitarian hell at least. And everyone has been nicer to me than most of our own people are! As I sit here in this tavern I have yet to pay for a drink. They just keep them coming! I will be sure to bring you back a souvenir, but that is my field report. - sent 18.00


Atticus Al-Waheed reporting in. I may have messed up, the good news is nothing hurts anymore! I think my brain has stopped processing pain due to an overload, probably not good in the long run but it's better than it was. I also might need a potential evac? I am currently crawling through the Uruk streets like a slug with a trail of blood. It's not a dignified sight I must say and the locals are looking at me weirdly. Probably going to take a few hours to get back to the pod at this rate and it could be risky to try given my good stabbing arm is now currently my… detached stabbing arm. I am going to be honest I am in a bit of a mess and not sure how to proceed, if the doctor asks Multiverse theory is the worst and there were ten of them! -sent 22.00

 

[Ezrihel]

Atticus, this is Blue Papa. A certain doctor wants to remind you to check in your satchel for the tubes of Medinarc included in all field kits. For the love of our ancestors, do not drag yourself through the street making more of a scene (or trail) to follow. Inject yourself, heal and get back to your scouting pod before getting arrested. You know the rules, Atti. Lose the authorities and get to safety.

The C.M.O instructs that after injecting the Medinarc, you should try to be pretty quick with reattaching your arm unless you’d like to grow a whole new one from a nub lizard-style. Your field kit should be equipped to get you recovered enough to escape.

What happened to you? Did the oddly friendly populace turn against you in a ploy or trap, or did you do something to suddenly run out of good grace? You seemed to be having such an easy time. We can discuss it further once you return to the ship.

The General encourages you to take as much advantage of their odd custom of transparently sharing what should honestly be classified material with tourists on your way out. Honestly, what strange people running the government of Uruk. He also has made note of his curiosity on the capital city, Karim, and looks forward to an in-depth debriefing soon. May the gods watch over you and keep you safe, Atti. - sent 22.11​

 

[Victor Wolfe]

Atticus stared blankly at the message as the gears slowly started to turn, apparently, the massive blood loss and shock from being smashed into a wall had done more damage than he initially thought. Reaching into his field kit, the assassin withdrew one of several tubes marked in stencil font as ‘MEDINARC’ and sprayed the medicine over his wounds. It smarted for a moment, like a fresh cut run under water as it foamed up and cleaned his laceration. The Medinarc sizzled, letting off a slightly meaty and chemical odor as the healing process started in earnest. Atticus flipped the tube over, jabbing the other end down into his thigh with a clenched groan.

Taking a small needle and thread he stitched his arm back into place, the spray doing a fantastic job of numbing any pain although the sight still caused him to wince a little, the reformation of bone, sinew and muscle always itched and stung. After a couple of minutes, he felt the twitch of his fingers as he slowly regained function to his right arm, his preferred of the two. The young man scoffed. “He cut it off because he knew that, didn't he? What a jerk I apparently am.”

Atticus looked at himself in a nearby shop window, it was later in the evening and the streets hadn't become overflown with the revelry that often accompanied the Uruk nights, nor were the streets flooded with those who had just finished their jobs for the day, a rare moment of quiet before the storm.

Atticus was a mess, covered in a mix of red and purple blood, looking like the paint palette of a meth head. His clothing hanging ripped dirty and just missing in certain places, the removed sleeve turning the robe into more of a one-strapped dress than a robe of the order. “Hm drunken party girl assassins, that would be fun… or annoying, a matter of perspective I suppose.” In his musings, Atticus noticed the name of the shop.

‘Nebuchadnezzars Hall of Heroes’. In the front of the store windows were mannequins with elaborate outfits, armours and weapons, many of them Atticus didn’t recognise like a golden armoured figure majestically holding up a sword with even the mannequin itself radiating a sense of authority positioned at the centre of the display. To its left, a smaller mannequin stood in a royal blue cloak with golden trimmings, a brown wig and an extremely pale-looking make-up kit on a stand next to it.

The right side of the display was occupied by a uniform that Atticus instantly recognised, rubbing his arm at the uncomfortable sight of a black robe with a… golden trim? Not the black and red that had just been worn by the man that tried to end him but judging by the blond wig, the red contacts and the daggers at the side there was no mistaking that this was a representation of Victor. He was starting to get the picture, the middle figure must be the ever-so-famous ‘King Goldie’ that his multiversal counterpart had so affectionately sworn his allegiance to... and the one on the left had to be some sort of priest or pope-style figure?

’Of course, we need a religious figure to unite the gullible!’ Atticus could almost hear his overly pragmatic counterpart yapping in his ear.

Further out from the main three, there were other outfits, a small feminine figure in a white dress, a purple robe and skirt over it the robe with the occasional frog pattern on it, a long blonde wig, and what would appear to be a witches hat. Fairly normal stuff except for the skin colouring and the large googly eyes on stalks coming off the hat. Atticus thought that it was cute of them to have outfit selections for young children.

On the other hand stood next to each other in utter contrast was a large figure, larger than any of the other mannequins in full plate armour, an almost comically large blade held stoically in the grasp of the model, stood next to a mannequin that would give most stuffy old men a heart attack. The clothing looked like a cross between an Arabian princess and a stripper, and if the mannequin was modelled after some real living person Atticus could see why; whoever the shopkeeper was ordering them from must have asked a few questions about why a mannequin needed to be so ridiculously curvy but the figure and the outfit worked to accentuate their best features.

Now that he wasn’t in a massive amount of pain and forced terror, the assassin began to formulate a plan of action. Brushing himself down he practised a few steps, leaning forward a little more, walking with a purpose, he let one eyebrow raise a little more and smiled with that side of his face to create a more smug grin, and walked into the shop.

The shopkeeper was an older gentleman with a big beard and a soldier-like build, almost twice as wide as the assassin and about the same height. The man spoke with a slight persian accent as he gave a smile and a professional salute to Atticus as he entered, a look of concern crossing his face.

“At ease soldier,” Atticus said in a playfully teasing tone, taking a seat at one of the chairs in the fitting room.

“But my lord, what happened to you? I have not seen you this hurt since the battle of- well, I know you don’t like to talk about it...” The shopkeep fussed with genuine concern and Atticus had to resist reacting himself. This person seemed to have known his multiversal counterpart for a little longer than most and had knowledge of a tragic event that he didn’t like to talk about, a battle of some kind.

“Yes, and I would rather that we keep our conversations pleasant and not bring up that sordid affair… or would you rather fantasize over the death of one of your lords?” A glare from Victor's body double caused the shopkeeper to wince a little before retorting.

“Heh- well my lord, if it didn’t happen so often it might not be on my mind as much, but that is just the way it is with you primes, huh? Dying to save us secondaries, then popping back a couple of days later like the world's least impressive revenants.” The shopkeeper beamed a smile a little glint in his eye, he was mouthy but quick, Atticus could see why Victor would enjoy interacting with him able to exchange catty barbs like middle-class women competing over who has the cushiest life.

The shopkeep continued, “but I do owe you one, and I am glad you finally came to visit your little investment.” Atticus raised an eyebrow at the shopkeeper's statement. Victor Wolfe the pragmatic scheming sociopath invested into a cosplay shop? The investment part made sense, of course, he was in the most evil of all industries... but something as whimsical as cosplay?

“Sir you know I make a lot of investments, why would I have invested in such a… cosy little place?” The fake lord playfully taunted. At that moment the man stepped out from behind his counter, his chest had a large surgical scar, and one of his legs was replaced with a mechanical prosthetic.

“Well, you did almost kill me as you put it... Something about miscommunication in the scouting data, cavern was supposed to be empty as part of a routine patrol, and had a fairly new xenomorph hive. We won the battle, but before it was over one of them attached itself to my face and my commander had to cut off my leg to prevent their stragglers from dragging me away.” The elder soldier stared hard and honest at Atticus, who looked away, a bit of shame wheeling from what his counterpart's actions had caused.

“I still remember the day that you pulled me into your office and told me that due to my injuries, you could no longer risk having me in your military. Broke my heart it did. What sort of scumbag removes a parasite from someone's chest, gives them a mechanical leg, just to kick them to the streets? I expected you to then hand me the medical bill, but no- you asked what I wanted most from life. I wanted to tailor clothes like my father, and here we are.” The old man paused, lost in memory before he burst out into a blithe chuckle. “My favourite part was you slicing open the rabbit girl's arm and using the flame to ignite the medical bill though, that was a classic Emperor Wolfe move!”

Atticus was taken aback, for as ruthless and calculating as his counterpart had seemed, he was now seeing something of another side to him, a side that cared about the people under him, at least to some degree. Atticus felt resolve flood his heart, a glimmer of hope to line the gray clouds of his outlook. Maybe Victor Wolfe could be guided into help and healing. Maybe the sociopathic lord of Uruk could manage to shine-up the kernel of good buried deep down.

“Well, of course I did my good fellow, you served loyally and loyalty begets loyalty... I do need to call in a small favour, however. As you can see I got involved in an incident and a Lord of Uruk can’t be seen going through the streets like this, it's unbecoming! Could I take one of your replica outfits so I can get back home with some dignity?” Atticus pleaded

“Why of course, why not take one from one of our discontinued line, we have kleptomaniac witch, chair skeleton, Yu Kanda believe this outfit looks so good… and Ass of the King”

Atticus froze for a moment. “The what of the king?”

The shopkeep gave a wink. “Well I don’t want to be tried for treason but I believe that the production notes you sent implied something along the lines of ‘when all that comes out of you is shit’…”

Atticus nodded “Ah of course, that one. No, what I meant was more the replica of my usual uniform, preferably one with the red lining rather than gold.”

The shopkeeper gave an ecstatic clap. “Ah, the Victor Wolfe Classic over the Victor Wolfe Golden Edition! A popular choice my Lord! Of course I can, will you be wanting the plastic daggers too?” He said in a joking tone.

“You know what, why not? Let us see if anyone notices! Call it a realism test, my comrade!”