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Gacha God: Three Musketeers (ch. 8)
🕑 Added 2022-12-03 15:54:18 +0000 UTCYou have earned an Item Roll
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I loved the timing, I thought, dressed in the attire of Audacity while I was perched on top of the stack of shipping containers at the pier that I had visited in another timeline. My journal was laid out to the side for reference -- fifteen tallies marking fifteen timelines. The book filled out a fair bit. Only the first one ended with a future me dying. The others managed to get more information about the members of the mafia. Which wasn’t as big as I thought it would be.
My hand reached into the screen to grab the D20 to see what it would give me. I dropped it to my side, the holographic dice bouncing silently next to me while I looked down at the pier. The shipping container that was filled with young women was being brought down. A crew of four was guarding it -- Turk Barrett, Pavel Volkov, Nikolay Smirnoff, Lev Kozlov. They were always the crew that worked the human trafficking jobs, as far as I learned.
The dice bounced uncontrollably, rapidly spinning and flipping. It seemed like an anti-cheat measure to make sure I couldn’t roll what I wanted. I didn’t mind. I kind of liked the surprise. After a few seconds, the dice lay still with a 9 facing up towards the sky before the dice condensed into a ring.
Ring of Nine Dragons
A ring that can separate the wearer into nine copies at the cost of dividing the user’s skills, personality, and mental capacity between the number of copies created. Upon the death of a copy, the skills and intelligence used to create it will be redistributed amongst the remaining copies and ringbearer.
The ring was black for the most part with a golden inlay at the center. Making the black dragon swirl in the center of the ring stand out. It sat rather comfortably on my finger, and didn't really cause any issue with opening and closing my hand. Summoning the Eye of Cthulhu proved that it didn't interfere with it either.
"I can use this," I muttered. Having ten of myself active at a time? The world wasn't ready for that. The one downside was I would be divvying up my skills and intelligence between them. That sounded like one heck of a downside, but it was too early to tell if it was something I could manage. I would need a couple of trial runs to see how the division of intelligence and skills was decided and how it affected me. Then I could come to a verdict.
I looked at the ring and nudged a thought in its direction to see exactly how it worked. In response, right next to me, another me appeared. I flinched back ever so slightly while… Seb Two crouched next to me. The first thing I noticed was that he didn't have any rings on his hand, nor did he have a pair of ATs on. Meaning that he didn't get a copy of my items -- that was a big down side, but something I could work with. The second thing I noticed was that I didn't really feel stupider, nor did I feel like I had forgotten something like I expected. I had no idea how much of my IQ Seb Two had leeched off of me or what skills he stole.
The third thing was something I had already noticed, "That mask is so fucking creepy," I muttered to myself. As in myself, not Seb Two.
"I had two weeks to change it. Kinda late to complain," Seb Two remarked, and did I seriously sound like that? Ugh. This was the worst. I hated this ring.
"Uh," I heard Ned's voice in my ear, "who are you talking to?" Ned and Peter didn't have any sight on me since Ned was forced to use security cameras -- though Peter was talking about making drones. So, they couldn't see me or the other me.
"Myself," I answered, giving Seb Two a pointed look to shut the fuck up. I did notice that he used I instead of we. Seb Two better not be thinking… he was me. A stupider me. He was absolutely planning to murder me to take the Ring of Nine Dragons from me to take the position of Seb One. The prick. I hoped he died during this mission. Preferably at my hands. Unless that would be considered suicide? Well, it’s not like that ever stopped me before.
"Oh, well, I'm seeing the car you mentioned. Two in the front seat and one in the back," Ned informed, making me glance over as I heard the sound of an engine gently humming. The car flashed the headlights twice, the signal that it was them. The car rolled up, came to a stop, before the doors opened. Ivan and Andrei got out first before they dragged a kid out of the passenger seat. He seemed a few years older than me, but we shared a similar build. He was a last-second addition.
"He's a feisty one," Ivan remarked, throwing the guy at Turk's feet.
"Guess we'll skip the easy way or hard way speech," Turk responded, taking out the cattle prod he had hidden up his sleeve. He drove it into the guy, making him go stiff as he collapsed in a heap, a strangled cry escaping him. "Go ahead, man. Scream as much as you want. Ain't no one going to come running to your rescue," Turk stated, letting the shock go for a few seconds, letting the guy catch his breath before shocking him again.
"What's going on?" Ned asked me because this time, the guy did end up screaming.
I glanced at Seb Two, who simply offered a silent nod before holding up three more fingers. I nodded. We didn't need telepathy to know what the other was thinking. With a thought, I created three more Sebs. Three through Five. They didn't have anything either beyond the getup. Silently, they began to creep their way down, leaving me perched on top of the shipping containers.
"There we go," Turk remarked. "See? No one's coming. Remember that when you're in there for the next… however long it takes for you to get where you're going." With a final shock, Turk grabbed the guy by his hair before tossing him inside the shipping container. The door slammed shut, locked in place. He and the girls would be safer there. In one timeline, the guy got killed with a stray bullet because he ran.
Ivan and Andrei started walking back to their car, dividing the group and their guard was at their lowest. It was then that the Sebs attacked in a suicidal charge. They tackled the three gunmen, but Turk managed to respond to the Seb that was attacking him. He put three bullets in Seb Four's chest, dropping him before Seb Four faded from existence. In that same moment, I leaped forward, sailing through the air, and whipped down my yoyo between Ivan and Andrei when they took their guns out and fired up on Seb Two, wounding him, but not enough to kill him.
The concrete exploded between them while the phantom yoyos slammed into their legs, shattering them. They dropped to the ground screaming while I landed on the face of the shipping containers across from me. Skating off of them, I threw myself at Turk and dropped an elbow down on his collarbone, snapping it like a twig. He shouted in pain, joining the others as the remaining Sebs beat the shit out of the mobsters. Their movements were sloppy, overpowering them with raw strength rather than any type of technique. One was bashing a mobster's head in with the butt of a gun, while another Seb was repeatedly kicking one in the balls.
"Shit! Fuck! You're- you're that guy! Audacity! What the fuck you doin' here?!" Turk shouted, wincing as he clutched his collarbone, his arm curled up to avoid aggravating the injury.
I ignored him in favor of opening up the container and grimacing at the absolutely awful smell. I did avoid the mad lunge that the guy sent my way, ready to tackle whoever opened the door. He screamed to his feet before pausing when he saw it was me. "You, get them out of here. Stick to the street lights that work and call the cops."
"I-" the guy started, "Yeah! Yeah, totally!" He continued, smiling in absolute relief. He sniffled, "thank you. You… you just saved our lives."
"You can say that when you're not still in danger," I told him. The girls began to venture out of the shipping container. I was surprised when one of them all but tackled me with a hug, burying her head in the nook of my shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispered to me before breaking off. The group of almost human trafficking victims made their escape, grouped together and fleeing for their lives. The other Sebs were still beating the shit out of the other mobsters before I turned my attention back to Turk. He was inching away from me, his expression tight, but there was fear in his eyes when I picked up the cattle prod.
"It was a job, man. It paid the bills," Turk started to defend himself. To make excuses. "I have debts! Real ones! If I didn't do this… then I'd be in there! Or worse! And if it wasn't me, then it'd be someone else!" He shouted as I rolled towards him, the cattle prod cackling to life.
"I really don't care," I told him, Turk coming to a stop as he leaned up against a shipping container. "Now, I want you to scream. I want you to scream as loud as you possibly can because I want you to know that no one is coming to help you." I echoed his words before shocking him. He started shouting, writhing under the voltage that I held against him for a solid fifteen seconds. I let him catch his breath before I shocked him again. Twenty seconds this time.
"I'm sorry! Alright?! Fuck! I'm sorry!" Turk shouted when I took the prod away from him.
"Not interested in an apology either," I remarked, shocking him again. This time, through the electricity and clenched teeth, he spoke.
"What do you want?!" He demanded, rasping for breath when I took the cattle prod off of him. There was a momentary expression of relief before I shocked him again. And again. And another time. "I-I have information! I have information! You're some hero, right? Yeah, you saved those people, a-and I can help you take down the Russians!"
I rolled my eyes to the heavens, "This also isn't an interrogation." I told him, shocking him again for good measure. I already knew everything that he had to say. Turk was an affiliate with the Russians rather than a member, but he worked with them a lot and he had a number of connections. Particularly when it came to gunrunning. Human trafficking was a side hustle.
"Then what is this?!" He shouted through the pain.
"You sold people. Like they were things. You terrorized those women to the point they couldn't even think about resistance. And you're asking me why?" I questioned, shaking my head at the thought of it. "I'm hurting you because you deserve it, Turk. I really wish I could give you what you deserve -- maybe toss you in the shipping container and sell you off to some sick pervert or an organ harvesting company. But, that would mean participating in human trafficking, and I don't hate you quite enough to do that."
Turk was silent for a beat and I could tell my words struck a nerve. "I'm sorry-"
I shocked him again, "Again, not looking for an apology. You've ruined how many lives and you think you can get off with a few shocks and an 'I'm sorry?' Are you out of your fucking mind?" I asked him, holding the cattle prod in place. "This is going to keep going until someone does show up, this thing runs out of battery, or you die. To be very honest with you, Turk? I really don't care which happens first."
This time when I shocked him, Turk screamed as loud as he could, completely desperate for someone to save him.
The only thing that did was a half-charged battery. As recompense, I broke his legs and arms.
…
"I'm getting a lot of chatter about you," Ned told me through a phone in my ear while I took a hammer to a hinge to knock the bolt out of it. “You really did a number on those guys. They’re all still in, er, critical condition,” he added. “And, I found a dirty cop! Well, another one. The people you rescued talked to the police, and officer Rowan told the mob.”
“Are they planning anything?” I asked Ned, popping the bolt out before grabbing the door itself and setting it to the side. It revealed that the screws were completely stripped annoyingly enough.
“If they are, then they’re keeping it offline,” Ned answered, his tone mournful. “I’m keeping an eye on the girls and guy, though. Just in case. They seem really shaken up by the whole experience.” He added a note of pride in his voice.
Busting the shipment of people had to be done. I knew very well that I wasn’t a stellar example of humanity. I was kinda a total asshole. I only truly valued my own opinion. What I viewed as right and wrong were completely arbitrary because it was based on how I felt. And I felt that human trafficking was pretty fucked up and both the buyers and sellers needed to die a slow death. Preferably involving fire. Or acid. Or maybe sandpaper. If I got to be the one to deliver that slow death, all the better.
For that reason, I had to put a stop to it last night. It was a bit of a gamble since Shield and the other alphabet agencies would be investigating the entire thing since it was related to me. So far, Ned hadn’t heard any chatter from Shield, but he seemed to think that was by virtue of the knowledge being restricted to levels he hadn’t breached yet. It was a gamble I had to take, because if I didn’t, according to a past timeline, that shipment of people went out last night to who knew where.
It was an absolute pain to get the screw out of the door. By the time I was hitting the third set, I was cursing whoever put them in. I did manage to get them out though, and then I moved on to the door itself. “The Russians aren’t going to take this lying down. But, we also aren’t the only ones that are going to be keeping an eye on the Russians going forward. When we hit them again, everyone that wants me is going to be ready to pounce.”
“... We are going to do something, right?” Ned questioned, a frown in his voice. “I know it's your call -- I’m just the guy in the chair, but… Sebastian, these guys are evil. Like, real evil. And they have connections in the police -- I didn’t even think that was real! I thought movies made that up to explain why the good guys couldn’t just call nine-one-one or something.”
I smirked, “Course we’re going to do something about it. I don’t start things I’m not going to finish,” I told him. “I’ll be hitting them again today. How’s Peter coming along?” I heard shuffling from Ned then he failed to completely cover his mic.
“How’s it going with the drones?”
“Terrible. But tell Sebastian that it’s going alright. I’ll figure something out,” I heard Peter say in the distance.
“It’s going alright,” Ned covered for Peter without missing a beat.
Getting the last screw out, I opened up a pack of screws and those little sleeve things you put on them when the hole was too big for the screw. Grabbing the hinges that I had bought, I lined them up and started screwing them in place. “If he needs more time, then just let me know. S’not like the mob is going anywhere,” I told him. Time was on our side. The Russians were forced to react to us and things were early enough that they didn’t know how we were going to hit them.
As far as the Russians knew, this attack had come completely out of the blue. Possibly an isolated incident. By the time they figured out that we were gunning for them, I planned to knock them flat on their asses in a way they couldn’t get back up from. All the alphabet agencies would get a front-row seat to it.
“I’m about to head over. Whose house am I going to?” I asked, putting the hinges on the doorway in quick order.
“Mine,” Ned answered. “We’ll talk more then. See ya’!” Ned gave an enthusiastic goodbye before ending the call and I tucked my phone into my pocket. Screwing the last of the hinges into the doorway, I took a moment to strip off the old rotten… thing that hung at the bottom of the door that… I don’t know what it did, to be honest. Just that most doors had them and the one on this door was rotten and old. Replacing it with a new one that was sealed in place with some epoxy, I lined the door up. Bracing the door with one hand, I realized I screwed up and had to restart the entire process because I didn't use the WD-40 on the hinge.
Once I did, I lined the door up, hammered the bolts in, and the door swung soundlessly and no longer stuck on the doorway bad enough you needed a running start to get it open or close.
“Oh, bless you, young man,” I heard when I took a step back to admire my work. Glancing over, I saw it was the owner of the door I just repaired. An older woman with stark white hair, and while all signs that she lived a hard life were there, she aged well. There were tears in her eyes, “Bless you. There are good souls left in this city.”
“Eh, I wouldn’t say that,” I shrugged, leaning over to toss all the odds and ends into a bag.
“I nearly dislocated my shoulder every single day getting in and out of my apartment. That landlord isn’t worth a thing,” she groused before she flashed me a smile filled with gratitude. “Wait right there -- I have something for you- ah! I don’t want to hear it. I don’t have any grandkids -- thank god for that -- but you’ve more than earned some cookies. I’m sure your own grandmother's very lucky to have you,” she said, entering her own apartment with an ease that wasn’t possible for her before.
She wasn’t kidding about nearly dislocating her arm. The only reason I noticed the door was because she was throwing her body against it and it hardly budged. I decided I was going to fix it, showed up with some supplies, and here we were.
“Maybe,” I answered with a shrug. I had no idea if I even had a grandmother. Or a mother for that matter. There were decent odds that I was some sort of test tube baby. “Whose your landlord?” I asked, finding myself curious. The building we were in was a bad one. A crack fiend had watched me every step of the process and there were holes in the drywall in the hallway, the floor scuffed to hell and back… honestly, I lived in a condemned building and my living conditions were better.
“Armand Tully. God forgive me, but if I was alone with that man for five minutes…” she muttered from within her apartment. “He’s a little weasel of a man that doesn’t care about anything but money. I’d wish that he’d go to hell, but I wouldn’t want to inflict him on the demons!”
“Wow,” I remarked, thoroughly amused, while she seemed embarrassed that she said how she really felt. “Sounds like he needs a talking to.”
“Oh, don’t mind this old woman, and enjoy your snack, dear," she said, sounding like she regretted saying anything about it as she handed over a dozen cookies that were in a Tupperware container. Sweet. "You've done enough for one day. Don't go trying to right the wrongs of the world. You'll get ground to dust long before the world does."
"Wouldn't be so sure about that. I'm a lot more stubborn than the world is," I said, graciously accepting the cookies. "I'll bring the Tupperware back. Give me a holler if you need anything else," I told her, giving her a wave bye, and she gave me an honest smile. I saw DIY projects in my near future, but there were worse ways to spend an afternoon. She closed the door as I grabbed the plastic bag filled with tools and odds and ends, the door shutting with ease now that it wasn't half hanging off the doorframe.
Leaving the building, I dropped the metal bits off in a homeless man's shopping cart that was filled with aluminum. Copper piping was where the real money was, but in the heart of Hell's Kitchen, you weren't likely to find any. He thanked me and I waved him off, helping myself to a cookie as I headed down into the metro station. Chocolate chip. Double win.
Hopefully, there wouldn't be any arsenic in them, but if there was, then I suppose I would find out soon enough. Either way, they were pretty good.
I got off the train in the heart of Queens, not too far off from where Ned lived. He only lived right down the block from Peter, but it almost felt like I was stepping into a whole different neighborhood. New York was still oddly segregated in some ways with mini neighborhoods all over the place that would comprise only of Spanish families, or Italian, or in Ned's case, a Korean neighborhood. People found comfort with their own people, I guess. I couldn't really say I understood it.
Then again, I had no idea what my nationality could be. I wasn't even an American legally speaking.
I pressed the buzzer in front of a building for Ned's apartment. "It's me," I stated into the intercom. Ned didn't answer, which I started to think was odd until my phone rang. Ned.
"Are you ringing my doorbell right now?" Ned asked, sounding cautious. I would say paranoid but given that we did just hit the Russian Mob… completely fair, really.
"Yup," I confirmed, ringing out the first few notes to It Smells Like Teen Spirit.
"Okay, cool! I'll let you up," Ned said, the door unlocking to let me into the apartment building itself. It was a fairly nice place, I noticed once I was inside and heading to the elevator -- marble floors, cream colored walls that had the odd framed painting on them. Arriving on the floor, I approached his door. Again, my phone rang. Ned again. "That is you at the door, right?"
"Don't you have a peephole?" I asked, waving my hand in front of it.
"Yeah, but there are these mirror things that can reverse it, so you can look into my apartment," Ned said, the door swinging open to reveal him with his phone in his ear. "Hey, Sebastian," he greeted me with a little wave, his voice echoing through the phone. I hung up and shoved it in my pocket.
"Hey, Ned. Brought cookies. Be careful, they might be poisoned," I told him, welcomed into his family apartment. I told him mostly because I didn't want to share them.
"I have milk. Peter's in my room," Ned informed, gesturing to a door down the hall. The apartment was nice -- dark hardwood floors, soft blue painted walls, and meticulously clean. I didn't see a hair of Ned's parents and I hadn't any time I've come over. If it wasn't for the photos on the walls of a Korean woman and a Filipino man, I'd doubt that they even existed. Ned's room was decked out -- a long C-shaped desk that framed the wall, doubling as a workbench for what had previously been Lego sets.
Ned's computer looked like it was about to shift into Optimus Prime with how advanced it looked. It was hooked up to four monitors that were filled to the brim of data that was pouring in. I didn't understand most of it, but Ned was something else behind a computer.
"Hey, Sebastian," Peter greeted me, his voice oddly strained. Possibly because he was focused on what he was building with a soldering tool and some delicate-looking electronics. Possibly because of something else.
"Hey, Peter," I greeted him in return, setting the cookies to the side before I turned to face the back wall. Either Peter or Ned had been inspired by cop shows because on the wall was a web of information about the Russian Mafia. Everything that had been gleaned over the course of about twenty hours. There were a bunch of pictures that were connected by red string, each marked by a name and a position. It certainly looked impressive.
At the center of the web were two names -- Vladimir and Anatoly. Two brothers that were ex-cons from Russia but made it to the US and set up shop in New York. They joined an established Russian mob, but within five years of joining, they were leading it after bumping off the previous leader. They were also the CEOs for Veles taxi service -- which acted as a front for the mob for the most part. While not every cab driver for the company was a member as far as we found, most of them were, and they used the service to get around the city.
Below them was a familiar face -- Kazan. He was something of an underboss. A stopgap to make sure that if trouble did come sniffing around, it would stop at him rather than the real bosses. Around him were a number of names and faces -- his personal muscle. So far, the web was rapidly growing. Partly because I had given Ned a list of names over the course of several timelines, but Ned contributed just as much by hacking into phones, security cameras, and so on.
At the moment, we had about twenty names confirmed with another thirty-something in a maybe pile. Now that we didn't have to worry about a human trafficking shipment, we could afford to take our time confirming who was with the mob and who wasn't.
"Sebastian?" Peter spoke up as I looked at the web of information that also marked fronts we knew about. Locations to check out. "Are you going to kill anyone?"
The question gave me pause. I glanced at Peter to see that he was looking at me directly, almost seeming like he regretted asking the question in the first place. His lips were pressed together, his brow furrowed, and it was pretty clear what he wanted the answer to be but he continued talking. "I mean, those guys totally got what they deserved! It's just… they're all in critical condition. Like, life support kind of critical condition, so…"
"Yeah, probably," I confirmed to Peter when he started to flounder. I'm not sure how he would react to the knowledge that even if someone had died last night, they would hardly be the first person I had killed. "I mean, it's not like I'm planning to drop bodies to see how high I can pile 'em up. That's not me."
Peter shifted and I could see him processing that, so I continued. "Look, Peter -- for me, violence is a two way street. I'm going to dish out what comes my way. If someone comes at me trying to kick my ass? I'll stomp 'em, but they'll live. If they run their mouth? I'll give some lip, but those are just words. They only have the weight I give them. But if someone tries to kill me? I'll put them in the dirt, Peter. No questions asked." I explained to him and that probably didn't help things because his expression grew more intense.
"So, self-defense?" He voiced, nodding to himself. "But how do you know if someone's going to kill you?" He asked and the easy way to know was if they tried to kill me in another timeline.
"If they point a gun at me," I answered with a shrug. "Guns aren't a toy that you wave around to intimidate or de-escalate. They're a declaration of intent -- that you intend to kill whoever is standing at the business end of the barrel. You point one of those things at me? Then I take that as you intending to put me down. And, it's a personal thing, but I think if you're willing to kill you better be damn ready to die. It's only fair." I offered my opinion, watching to see how Peter processed that.
I had no problem killing someone that was trying to kill me. That was just fair and my conscience would be light as a feather afterward. The only thing that would bother me would be killing someone that wasn't trying to put me down. The only reason I didn't drop a body at the docks was that I wanted to see what the alphabet agencies did.
"Okay," Peter decided, nodding his head in acceptance but he gave me a sharp look that didn't at all fit his acne-riddled face. "But… I… I'm going to call the cops. If you ever murder someone. On you," he clarified as if that needed it. "Sorry," he added a second later before looking confused when I broke out into a smile.
I shook my head, "Don't be sorry. Not to me. Never for something you believe in, man."
"What?" Peter questioned, his confusion growing. "I thought you'd be… mad or something," he admitted and that just made my smile grow wider. I liked Peter. He could do with a healthy dose of self-confidence, but underneath that self-doubt was grit and a spine that most people just lacked.
"You can't deal with working with a murderer. That's your line in the sand. And you told me to my face instead of doing it behind my back," I told him, taking a step forward and offering a fist. "Everyone should follow their own moral compass. So, if you ever call the cops on me at some point down the road, I want you to know -- Peter, we're good." I meant it too.
I lived my life exactly how I thought I should. How could I get mad about someone else doing the same? I might smack them down if I disagreed with what they believed in, but I wouldn't ever get mad at them for following through on what they thought was right.
Peter was visibly relieved and even a little proud of himself when he tapped his fist against mine. Before he could say anything, Ned entered his room carrying three glasses of milk.
"Okay! So, what are we doing now?" Ned asked me as we all grabbed a glass and a cookie, turning to the web of evidence. I took a bite out of a thoroughly soaked cookie and chewed thoughtfully.
"We shook the tree. Now let's see what falls loose."
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Thomas
The gacha gives the hardest to write powers, doesn't it?
