Chapter 391

  Rewriting the Past

  Irony, an event that sounds like a chore from the 1960s but has much larger societal implications that might be missed if you take everything at face value.

  How did I get here? Why am I thinking about this development? Well simple it all goes to the fact that after qualifying for all five Planetary Positioning teams, the logic would be that Raygunnr and I could finally separate, that our maximum efficiency as a co-bonded pairing is over. The idea being that if we were to separate and later return for when the Planetary Positioning matches were to occur, our bond would be just as effective then, as it is right now. Our ability to understand the thoughts and intent of each other from simple physical cues and non-cues alike is enough for us to have a split-second faster reaction time.

  Logically, I should be happy about this, as this is the achievement I have been waiting to gain with Raygunnr for months now. His incessant whirring and groaning in pain when his metallic body gets ripped apart from being pushed beyond its mortal limits and replaced with crystalline substrates that are harder and more durable than any metals or known polymers on Biprism. The way no one gets his stupid jokes and thinks I am abusing him while he calls out for help in morse code, a language that is entirely different from his typical Mana Language.

  Yet it was only after all this time that I finally realized I had been sitting on a literal goldmine. Or maybe in the literal goldmine? I don’t know. All I do know for certain is that once I leave this cockpit, my time and partnership with Raygunnr will be over, and I will no longer be able to spend quality time with him and force him to do what he was made for.

  You see, despite the bad dance moves, the terrible attempts at jokes, and the want to start a Mechram, something I still am confused about. Yet, buried deep, in all the machinery and mana cords lives the heart and soul of a writer. Not just any writer, but the premier writer of nontraditional romances. Which makes me wonder if it is me? Am I somehow this deep vortex-tual magnet that causes great stories and great writers to be pulled into my orbit, only to ultimately be disenfranchised by the source material, or find out too late that I could have literally done a lifelong dream of forcing one of my favorite writers to be strapped to a chair and write for eight hours a day?

  Especially after he seemed to praise the work of other SLWC writers so highly. While there were many who have since joined the SLWC, none belong there for the same reason that Raygunnr clearly belongs there.

  Perhaps it is a good thing that I only found out now about Raygunnr’s true identity, or how he managed to retire comfortably in his real life before he decided to join me and upload his consciousness to Biprism. Oddly enough, it was only because I was stuck to being inside Raygunnr for the final few minutes that I realized, I wasn’t ready to leave. Especially not if I could just sit and watch him work his magic.

  ***

  (Ten Minutes Ago)

  “And I’m all like, you probably think archmage involves eating at a fast-food restaurant,” Raygunnr declares, his mana and Qi pulsing on full display showing that he is hyped up for telling some of his better trash talking moments of the tournament. As he goes on, I can see Melkin’s wife, the dispatcher lady who I swear has a name, but I am too flustered to ask right now as I should know it after all this time. She just stares at Raygunnr, who looks like an animated and flashing murder bot with flashing red eyes, and particles bursting all over his body letting everyone know he is all but shouting out in excitement in the way a mute football player would attempt to scream along with their team. There is just one problem, I am one of the few people who can understand Raygunnr, especially with Penelope being pulled aside and smiling while talking excitedly to Mallory and Gwen. I’m pretty sure I know what those three are discussing, but seeing Penelope’s excitement at telling her friends the good news fills me with something warm inside that I can’t quite describe. In fact, I am so focused on Penelope’s excitement that I almost fail to realize that as usual, Raygunnr cannot read the room.

  “I don’t think they can understand those taunts that you shared in Mana Language,” I reply in both Mana Language for Raygunnr and for everyone that looks on with a sense of being scared that a murder bot might just go crazy in the heart of World’s End.

  “Not my fault they can’t understand basic programming.”

  “It’s not programming,” I reply, again acting as interpreter as programming is still different from Mana Language. I could explain, but its more nuanced. If I see real coding, something has gone wrong and things can be exploited. Sadly, those days are mostly over by now, especially the more my Simulacrums work their magic on the world and convert it with Arcane Geomancy.

  “Actually, it’s a good thing you are here to help translate,” the dispatcher replies, a note of relief in her voice as she sees me and likely thinks that I will stop Raygunnr from going full murder bot on everyone.

  “Ohh?” Raygunnr and I reply in unison, again a sign that we have spent way too long together and basically share the same thought wavelength at this time.

  “Yes, we have gotten a formal request from your Trust to reach out to you about a movie adaptation for your fourth and final work,” the dispatcher states as she nervously fiddles with her glasses. Glasses that are showing a mirrored copy of the text she is relaying. Text that was written and formed by magic that glowed extra brightly to my Angel's Sight.

  At first, I am about to disregard the text as it is something personal. But only after I realize that I need to act as translator for Raygunnr do I think about needing to read the text that is flowing quickly across her lenses.

  Only after I realize three things do I decide that being polite and minding my lane is not going to happen. The first thing is that, despite how annoying Raygunnr has been, honestly, he has been a great sport about all of this. I honestly am glad that he has been my partner through this and helped me keep my sanity as just someone I could talk to throughout this whole process. That is why I want to make sure the guild isn’t taking advantage of him. Not that they would, but my knowing all of the relevant information is important to ensure I trust the response I give him. Second, I realize that this is a good way to get dirt on Raygunnr that I can hold over him for years. Are you kidding me? Knowledge of a secret past? Was he a murderer? A failed tax broker? A wealthy business tycoon who left everything to their cats? I need to know.

  Then there was the third and arguably the most pressing reason for my snooping, if I am being at all honest with myself, and that is that I am beyond curious about anything. Also, it’s not my fault, the information is right there, scrolling by in real time, like words written with a laser pointer, of course I am going to look and read.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  That is how I convinced myself that I was doing the right thing, by snooping in and reading about Raygunnr’s personal life, from before he joined Biprism. It was also at this time that I found out that I knew Raygunnr. Or at least been an adamant fan of his work back when I had constant access to media, at the time only the first three books were complete and there was no talk of the fourth one being worked on at all.

  Before I know it, I am reading the message out loud. Only after I am done does my mouth drop open, with maybe a tiny bit of fairy drool, as I realized I was currently inside the body of a genius.

  A person who literally brought life to the Minotaurs as crossed-lovers genre, where a Minotaur tames the heart of a feisty female bull rider. But also, best of all, I know that there is a fourth book to the series, one that I have never read before.

  “Uh yes, what the Doctor said,” the dispatcher states as she holds up a legally binding parchment.

  “Sigh,” Raygunnr literally says the word sigh, though he does seem to inflect this word by the slightly slowing of his pistons and tightening of his posture.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, trying to understand why Raygunnr is so out of it suddenly.

  “It’s just that part of why I joined here was so I could avoid that aspect of my life,” Raygunnr says, a bit of his normally overly bombastic attitude dying down as he seems to be embarrassed.

  “What? You were really good, I really enjoyed your series,” I reply, only realizing afterwards that I was overly excited about reading minotaur smut. Realizing what I had done, I get embarrassed for a moment and cover my face, which I know is blushing.

  “See, this is why I wanted to avoid talking about it, even using a penname to hide it from my real life, so I wouldn’t embarrass my family.”

  “Oh, come on, of all the reasons why you would embarrass your family, I guarantee it had nothing to do with your writing Minosmut.” I reply, and mean it thinking of all his terrible attempts at telling jokes.

  “It’s embarrassing as it began as a joke.”

  “A joke?”

  “Yeah, it was to show my, then wife, that anyone could write a smut story.”

  As he speaks, I can feel his personal undertow of feelings flood our shared bond. Feelings from the loss of his relationship with his wife, to how his bad joke apparently ended their relationship.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, was she mad when she found out that you wrote the series?” I ask, trying to offer condolences.

  “No, she died of stage four cancer before my publisher even got the first book out. She died so quickly that we couldn’t even get her consciousness uploaded here. Too much ‘corruption of data.’” Raygunnr replied, raising his metallic fingers as he spoke about corruption of data.

  As he spoke, I felt myself going quiet as I felt sad for Raygunnr. Sad that he had apparently gone into doing something for the person he loved, but they apparently passed away before they could enjoy the experience together.

  “Right, well, do you think Raygunnr would mind signing for this adaptation to go to his trust?” the Dispatcher asked, pulling us back and bringing us to the real question at hand.

  “Yeah, sure, I guess,” Raygunnr replied, seeming dead to the whole topic as if it was something that he could care less about. Which I guess was part of his past that might be too hard to accept currently. Seeing his response I reply back as his proxy.

  “He agrees,” I answer, but then a devilish thought hits me. Since I am acting as his proxy and seeming to act in his best interest, I make sure to add, “but only if we can read a copy of the original work, and proposed script that will be used for the screen adaptation.”

  This is brilliant! With this one clause, my inner book lover goes wild as I can finally see what happened next. Just thinking about the lassoing tricks with rope that might come out next makes me excited. Though perhaps I am too excited as I instantly feel Raygunnr reacting to my excitement.

  “What?”

  “You want to make sure they don’t ruin your franchise, right? Well, I’m going to read it and let you know if it meets your seal of approval,” I reply, speaking only in Mana Language.

  “You are that big of a fan?” Raygunnr replies incredulously as I can all but see the cocky smile forming on his metallic lips at my increasing discomfort. Fortunately it is the dispatcher that distracts me from having to answer this line of questioning.

  “There is just one thing I don’t get,” the dispatcher asks.

  “What’s that?” Raygunnr and I ask in unison, then pause to look at each other as our synchronized bond is still in effect.

  “I just don’t get what a Minotaur in Jiyuan shop, a sub-prefecture-level city in northwestern Henan province, China would mean?” The dispatcher asks. At first, I’m a little confused but then realized she Americanized the accents apparently while conducting her research and clearly believe words should not be accented.

  “Oh, you misread that, it is not Jiyuan without accents which refers to the Chinese location, but Jìyuàn with accents over the ‘I’ and ‘a’ meaning a brother in Chinese. Thus, the title becomes a play on words, of the bull in a China shop, to be a Minotaur in a China brothel,” I reply finding myself oddly defensive of Raygunnr’s subtle style, and feeling that is both humorous and just catchy enough to fit with the motifs of the series. For a moment, I think that Raygunnr might actually be a comedic genius, at least as far as this title is concerned. I have the thought, then immediately dismiss it, realizing that he might have lost a punchline or two since his rebirth here.

  “Okay,” the dispatcher responds, and seems to have lost some of her initial energy she had when she first came to grab our attention. “Well, if you are willing to sign the forms, then stay here and I can act as your witness for the forms and amendments on requiring both an original copy of the work, along with a copy of the screen play.”

  As she speaks that last part, she just stares at me, as if she knows that was solely something I would ask for and demand. Fortunately, she didn’t call me out on it, but just left to the main office building.

  While she left, I couldn’t help but find myself filled with a series of questions. Despite us having spent months together, it suddenly felt like I didn’t know anything about Raygunnr at all. The longer we stood there waiting in silence, the more concerned Raygunnr became, until finally he asked.

  “I take it you have some questions?”

  At that, I just scoffed, and finally replied, “yeah, you could say I have some questions.”

  With my comment, there was a slightly harsh undertone that made my words come out sharper than I had intended. Hearing my words, I could see Raygunnr wince, as I could feel his inner conflict finally give away to acceptance.

  “Go ahead, ask anything, and I will answer truthfully,” Raygunnr began. With that, I felt like I could take full advantage of this, ask him if he killed anyone, where the bodies were buried, did he really think he was funny, etcetera, but I ultimately decided against those questions and focused on the important questions. Well, the questions that were important to me.

  “Why didn’t you join the SLWC?” I ask, confusion filling my voice.

  “What, the Seventh Life Writers Club? Well, the main reason is that I am not on my last life. Second, I thought that was a club for, you know, good authors. Authors who have distinguished themselves from the rest,” Raygunnr replies, finally a note of humility in his words and actions, the one time he doesn’t need to hold back at all.

  “Oh, come on, I’ve read your stuff, it is as good if not better than half the authors there,” I state, mentally thinking that he is infinitely better than one terrible writer who writes about a nasally lich with a lisp, and an infatuation for women who are hundreds of years younger than him.

  With that, I can feel Raygunnr physically vibrating, it takes me a second to realize that this would be similar to a cat purring with their whole body, but instead as a Teleiotís he apparently vibrates and has gears and pistons pumping and thrusting when he is overly excited. These gyrations cause him to physically shake, a most disconcerting sensation when on the inside of him.

  “Yeah, but how could I compare to Susan Whittle’s Grimlight series?” As he speaks, I feel a faint urge to vomit in my mouth.

  “Are you being serious right now?”

  “Deadly, also she is the first SLWC member to produce a new series entirely since she got here. Something I just found out recently. Now that is talent.”

  And like that, I realized that while I might not rely on Raygunnr’s own personal recommendations, I could use this to force him to write even more for his own series that I liked.

  “You know, you could encourage her to write by offering some competition—”

  “Oh come on, there is no way I could compete with the true authors of the SLWC.” Raygunnr cuts me off, as he speaks, I note a hint of anger in his mana.

  “I take it you don’t like some of the other authors?”

  “What? Other than Susan Whittle, no, I don’t like them. Most are pretentious blowhards who probably think that typing with their pinkies up makes them fancy.”

  And like that, I realized there was more to this than I might have wanted to get involved with. But in for a penny, in for a penny dreadful novel, that whole thing. With this, I felt like there might be something wrong with the SLWC that I should take care of immediately.

  “Okay, tell me what you really think—” I begin, and like that, I got to see the true passion of the Minotaur King come to life.

  “Well, you only see them when they are—”

  To say the Minosmut king had beef would be an understatement.