Chapter 165: 162 Meeting a Tour Guide
Eagleton, Tennessee, November 28th, 17:33.
It is surprisingly difficult to find a good fanny-pack. It's almost like they're not fashionable or something.
But if I'm playing tourist, then it's only natural that I'd have a fanny-pack to go with my Hawaiian shirt and tan cargo shorts.
After getting back to Uppercrust, Clara in hand, we had our little chat, talking a lot of numbers, very boring stuff, but needs a must and all that jazz.
After that, it was just a case of taking Chris to the arcade, calling someone from Last Laugh to get him introduced with everything and straight to work, and then all I had to do was drop off the gremlins with Riley.
And I must say, Riley is just such a treat. Such a sweet little girl, nothing like James, who's become so broody.
I'm sure he'll be less grumpy once he finishes with his puberty stuff, but that's still years away if he doesn't cheat. But the age old classic of puppy-dog eyes works a charm in getting what you want.
I'm not unaware of the irony that I'm the one doing the puppy-dog eyes, but it's not like our little 'family' has ever abided by convention anyway. That would be boring.
Insanity wouldn't be so closely associated with laughter if it wasn't more fun than boring old normalcy. If you are happy at all times, even during tragedy, then you are insane. But you are also happy, so who's laughing?
You are, because you're insane.
The point is... I don't really know what the point is actually, what was I talking about?
Right, I was talking about the Machine Army.
This is going to be my second to last stop before I leave the country, and it's probably going to be a short trip.
I'm also not even trying to be subtle this time, mostly to test a theory of mine. See, I'm pretty sure the PRT isn't too happy with me right now. I couldn't say why, but details are hardly important.
However, I believe I'm at the point now that they know they can't really stop me unless they throw the whole Triumvirate at me. In other words, they're basically treating me as a wandering Endbringer now.
Which means that there was very little opposition to slapping that sweet sweet Class-S threat rating on my head. I am not ashamed to admit that I did a little jig when I got confirmation, because it's big news!
I am now one of five Class-S threats recognised by the PRT, with the others all being Endbringers, and Sleeper, but you say potato...
Granted, there are plenty others that have the power to join the ranks, such as the Machine Army. But as they are generally dormant they are left without.
I still plan on visiting plenty of them, especially the Blasphemies, because they just seem like a hoot of a time.
Either way, all that matters right now is the walled-in city before me.
Completely casually, I drive my bike up to the front gate of the wall, to be greeted by a pair of PRT troopers and three parahumans blocking the road.
They are all afraid, naturally, but it's only the parahumans I focus on, because really what could a mere human do to me?
Focusing on the one in the middle first, the first thing I notice is the 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳 of his fear, it's texture, for lack of a better word. He's a resigned kind of scared, like he truly knows that he would not have a hope of surviving against me, beyond simple logical understanding.
Combined with his rapid eye movements and that he doesn't seem to even be physically preparing to use any kind of power, I'd wager he's a Thinker who's power is telling him exactly what would happen if I wanted to kill him.
He's obviously sent here to gather information on me, likely by someone who's got a pretty good read on me to know that I'll happily play along. Or just someone who doesn't care for the lives of their subordinates I guess.
The other two are fighters though. The one on the left, dressed in a modified pilot's suit, just with more flexibility and colour, is clenching and unclenching hi sweaty palms, twitching slightly.
Probably a Blaster. I'd have thought Striker as a possibility, but his centre of gravity is slightly off balance behind himself, meaning he doesn't intend to get any closer, unlike the guy wearing a similarly modified train conductor's costume.
That guy is leaning forward ever so slightly, and seems to be focusing on his arms in the entirety rather than just his hands, so he's probably a Brute.
So, one to gather intelligence, and two to protect the Thinker. But they would know that these two wouldn't be enough, so they aren't here to protect him from me, their reactions are just instinctual, like meeting a dangerous animal.
Which can only mean that they want to come in with me, and the guards are there to make sure the Thinker doesn't die to the Army.
Smart move, because I probably would have watched him die, if only to see 𝘩𝘰𝘸 the Machine Army kills, as well as if he'd make any interesting faces as he died, since he's a Thinker and all.
"Miss Abel, we thought you might show up. I see that you already understand why, so I shall not reiterate. Will you be going in alone, or will you allow us to join you?" Mr Thinker says with a patented smile, his arms still crossed behind his back and his suit making me think of lawyers.
I like lawyers, they're amusing. Funny man says funny words and a convicted serial killer gets granted parole? How is that not funny?
"Sure, I don't mind tourist-ing with a proverbial microscope following me.~ But only under one condition.~ I will make you're job a little easier by skipping the subtlety and allow you to ask any questions you want, but, after every question you ask, I get to ask one, and you three have to rotate, so everyone gets involved. Deal?~"
He makes a face like he just lost a bet, probably something involving some other Thinker friends about whether I'll accept, or if I'll turn it into a game or something.
"The bet was actually on whether or not you'd want to play twenty questions." He sighs, answering my question without even asking it.
This is why Thinkers are great, especially precogs. You can have a whole conversation without actually having to have the conversation, which is the best way to make sure no one knows about it, since it never happened.
Of course, that makes me think of the Simurgh... If I ever get forced to meet her, I'll ask her to form a pact of non-aggression with each other in the past, and to let me have known by like, dropping a rock nearby or something.
𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘥.
...Well that's terrifying.
The noise was at least a mile away, but even then a shiver still goes down my spine.
That was just a coincidence right?
...Right?
𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘥.
Remember that time I almost had a paranoid breakdown thinking about Simurgh and Grey Boy?
Vow made to never, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 be even in the same 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 as the Simurgh 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, I promptly force myself to stop thinking down that rabbit hole and focus back on the present.
"Well, let's go in and get started then, you can have the first question!~" I exclaim with half-desperate enthusiasm, and of course his Thinker power just so happens to have not picked up on 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 thoughts I just had.
Just when you think you're getting somewhere with your power, there's always something.
After taking the moment to park my bike, learning that the three capes are called Hypothetical, Jet and Rail respectively, I only briefly mock the former for his needlessly long name.
I hate words with more than four syllables, and I blame James and Chibi.
He says I can call him H, as most people do, but I decided to name him Easy Eddie instead, because that's the lawyer guy who got Al Capone convicted.
The giant front doors look like a mix between a movie's typical over-the-top bank vault and a medieval castle's from gates. In simpler terms, they some big metal doors.
Of course, the first set opens to a small tunnel, with another door that only opens once the first is closed, and I take my polaroid camera out of my fanny-pack as I walk into the Quarantine Site, snapping a nice opening photo like a good tourist.
"I'd ask that you don't post any photos on the internet, but I somehow doubt you'd listen." Comes Eddie's dry response to my tourism, but I just snort derisively at him.
"Don't be stupid Capone, this is paper, you can't upload paper to the internet." I make sure to sound as scornful as possible, like I'm a noble talking with a rube, only for the plane enthusiast to be the one to answer.
"Actually, you can do that. In fact, there are like, a lot of different ways you can do it. I think most fax machines these days can scan and digitise things too."
Well now I just feel like an idiot, but in my defence, why the fuck would I know anything about the inner machinations of fax machines? I only ever used them to send ominous messages and threats to people who annoyed me.
Glaring at Plane-Man, watching him flinch is enough to make me feel better and move on to shaking the now printed picture.
"Well, I suppose I'll get started then. Exactly how many Clowns are there?" Al asks as we start walking.
My head is swivelling around as I do my best to properly play the tourist, but rather than interesting, this place is just eerie. It's like the cliché thing of it being too quiet, except it really is too quiet.
Eagleton is just a normal, typical American town, except that it's completely fucking empty. Not a single think lives within these walls. None of my sense are picking up any signs of 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.
It's like a real life haunted house, except it's a town, and it definitely wants to kill me. If not for the information I already had on the place, I would honestly just assume it to be an abandoned town, maybe hit by a plague or something that ended all life.
But I know the truth, every building, every car, every𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 around us is alive, in a broad sense at least. Alive and genocidal, how fun.~
"In the world? I'm not sure, probably a few hundred at least right? I can't imagine the demand for clowns is very high these days,~" I say, smiling as I notice his brow twitch at my non answer, "now that you know how the game is played, I'll be nice this time.~ I'm not actually sure how many there are, but it's probably still in the teens.~"
Technically true, both because I forget and because someone else could have joined. I'm sure I could get an accurate number after thinking on it for a bit, but that's not the game so why bother.
Walking past a supermarket, I pause to take another photo, liking the way the surrounding cars frame the shot. I'm going to hang these all up somewhere in my overly expensive house in Staten Island. Probably in the same room I put the gremlin when I get round to collecting it from Riley.
"Exactly how many Watchdog Thinkers are there?" I ask, mirroring his own earlier question and turning to stare him down unblinkingly out the corner of my eye as I wait for his response.
Now, he has a choice right now. He can either do what he is most likely supposed to do, which is to say something along the lines of 'I am not legally allowed to reveal such information', but that wouldn't be part of the game, and he's a Thinker.
He can figure out what will happen if he doesn't play the game.
"At least a dozen last I checked," he eventually says, with only a single nervous gulp showing his true feeling.
Immediately, my expression changes into a happy smile.
"Oh?~ I honestly thought there'd only be like, seven of you, what with Thinkers being smart enough to not work on a government salary.~"
He opens his mouth to respond, only to clamp his jaw shut with a clack as his power seemingly informs him of something.
Damn, I was trying to see if he'd confirm if he's from Watchdog without me having to waste a question. Guess his power caught on to that. How fun.~
Yes, this will be a fun game. Museums get boring without in-flight entertainment.
=================
A/N: He~llo! Dear readers!
Have any of you noticed that sometimes I write shit that doesn't make sense? Like the above line about in-flight entertainment? I'm not sure if it's obvious or not, but stuff like that is just Lusia being genuinely insane.
Like, sometimes her thoughts won't connect in any logical fashion, and that is by design, so don't autocorrect it in your brain, cuz it's supposed to show that she truly is insane, no matter the bouts of sanity she has, at her core she is a woman born broken, and further broken twice more. No therapist alive could 'fix' her.
Also, when I started writing I thought I'd be getting a bunch of mean comments all the time, but y'all have been pretty much exclusively fun and supportive, and honestly I know I've said it before, but thank y'all, I love ya <3
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