A Meeting of Godly Minds

Is a god truly still a god if they be away from their seat? Such thoughts bug me as I approach the asylum. Here, I am not omniscient. Here, I lack omnipotence. Here, I am limited to but one place at a time. And yet, in my heart, I do still feel as though I remain my godly self. Is that mere ego whispering falsehoods, or might godhood indeed still be mine?

As I’m approaching the gates of the asylum, Che calls me to warn me. “I don’t know what you’re expecting, but I’m seeing someone in the courtyard right now. With all the Goar about, you should be on your guard.”

Readying myself for another assault by the local masked fools, I enter into the hospital’s courtyard. Che’s right. A masked lady seems to be visiting, trying to get in. Something about this woman feels familiar, though. I approach, even more prepared for an attack. Anyone I’m familiar with is dangerous, and there’s no guarantee they are an ally, or even will recognize me.

The moment I step forwards, a knife is hurtling towards my face. It must have come out from the woman’s hand. There isn’t enough time to think about it. Just time to act. Clapping together my hands, I catch the knife. Tossing it up and catching it in one of my gloved hands, I look at it as the figure turns. I recognize this knife. It used to be mine. Before I left it in a friend, as a parting gift. Or an enemy, depending on her mood. ’Tis a knife I’ve felt pushed up against my bare skin before. My neck reminds me eternally. The featureless, white face of mine old friend and more recent enemy stares upon me now. Even without features, I can guess what she’s thinking. “What are you doing here, Empty One?” I ask, waving her knife about as a distraction. Depending on the mood, this may well go very badly, very fast. My off-hand slides down to my belt surreptitiously.

“You know this broad?” Che asks.

I don’t have time for Che until I know this isn’t going bad. “Shh,” I hiss. Meanwhile, Angelica speaks, “Of course it was you, false god. I ruled you out because I forgot you’re an idiot. If you wanted to kill me, you should have had the balls to do it yourself.” She’s gripping her grenade launcher. Time to act.

I ready the electromagnet to be activated when she fires. “I wouldn’t kill you, kid. Much better to let people suffer,” I try to educate my former pupil as I prepare for assault. I toss the magnet onto the ground near her. As I do, I realize something. She knows about the forwarding devices too. That, and being here. It can’t be a coincidence. Perhaps she needs not any education in this matter. “Seems you learned that lesson, finally.”

“Who is this chick?” Che asks me, ignoring my insistence he be quiet.

As he is ignoring me, I choose to ignore him. Especially since A has repositioned herself and is readying for the attack. “What do you mean?” she asks me.

Not the reaction I’m expecting, if I be entirely honest. Lacking omniscience here has caused a strain on my perfection in forethought. This may be a ruse. Action is required. First distraction. “I believed it to be M,” I say, as I let the blade slowly slide down until I am gripping the knife by it. “But you know how to make a mechanized forwarding terminal too, don’t you?” It works. Momentarily, the young woman is distracted. I return the gift I gave her so long ago, with force, hurtling the knife across the courtyard.

Unfortunately, there is how most get distracted, and there is how those who play the game get distracted. Even confused and hesitant, Angelica catches the knife with ease. “A what?” she spits at me, behind her mask, “You know me, old man. I’ve always found overreliance on technology to be your greatest weakness.”

I pause a moment. She is right of course. In spite, or perhaps because, of her upbringing by the hackers of Newest York, ever since she learned to play the game, Nobody was something of a luddite. Readying the magnet’s trigger, as this may well be a trap, I allow her a chance to defend herself. “Fair enough, kid,” I affirm her statement before asking, “If the actions were not yours, why are you here?”

She blusters at me. “You don’t know? I thought you knew everything. Isn’t that one of them perks of being a god?”

Che asks me, “Why are you taking that from her?” But I see right past the bluster. She is frightened by mine ignorance. She knows that only means trouble in her pursuit. I stare through her infantile manner. “Tell me,” I say, like a father to his child. Equal parts caring and forceful.

“Where’s the fun in that,” she replies. I study her still. Her body language. Not nervous, angry. Something has happened. She continues, “I’m here to do what we should’ve done years ago.”

She is planning on killing M. I cannot let that happen, not until I know the answers I seek. “Why?” I ask. No, that is not the question. The question is, why now. The terrible thing must have been recent. And directly related. “Unless she moved against you somehow?”

Still gripping her weapon, Nobody shrugs. That is oft as close to ascent as she gets. Her statement confirms that assessment. “Tried to have me killed. Needs to learn the same lesson I taught you: I don’t die easy.”

“Wait a second,” Che says in my ear, taking far too long to put the pieces together, “Does that mean this is that godlady you—”

I cut him off. “I assumed that,” I politely inform my former student, “How do you know it was her?”

At that, she finally looses her grip on the launcher, letting it fall to her side once again. “Because you’re a shitty liar,” she fails to explain with yet another shrug.

I take the time to collect my tossed tool. It may yet prove useful, and conflict between me and Nobody is on pause for more important targets. “Someone targeted you, why assume it was one of us?” I ask. Someone with her skillset is bound to make enemies, after all.

She exposits in response. “Because they targeted me. Unlike you, I’m good at not making enemies. And you’re the only two I know of who know I’m me. Oh, and, to be clear, I’m assuming you’re chatting with one of your pets. So if you so much as hint any details about me to whoever’s on the other end, I’ll find them and dot dot dot.”

“Pets?!” my worshipper Che objects in mine ear, “She thinks I’m some kind of pet.”

I sigh at his impertinence. It is clear I made the correct choice, in not teaching him the game. To Nobody, I say, “I assume you don’t have anything more than suspicion, like me.” She cocks her head, unsure of what I mean. Perhaps she is not as good as I remember. I take a moment to explain. “Someone’s targeting the same people as M, using similar but improved tech.”

It is then that she reminds me of how good she is. “I can do you one better. M’s using the name Rite for some reason.”

Rite, as in religion, perhaps. Or perhaps simply doing things she is accustomed to. I chuckle at the idea that this whole thing might be happening due to nothing but convention. “Maybe she found religion.”

“I’ll ask,” Angie replies, before entirely seriously adding, “Probably before I kill her.”

Some people do not learn. “You haven’t changed,” I say disappointed as I approach the asylum door. Nobody hangs back. I suppose she already spoke with the doorman. And she cares about appearances the proper amount for a god.

I knock on the door. A polite voice asks, “Who is it now?”

“A god, amongst mortals,” I inform him.

He gazes through the peephole and recognizes my mechanical face. “Ah, the God of Newest York. Of course,” he says very politely, before shuffling back to check something. “Is the Nobody with you the same as the Nobody on the patient’s chart?” he asks.

“Indeed,” I inform him, “I will not be needing the asylum’s spare on this visit.”

The doorman opens the door. I notice Nobody is behind me. I don’t know how long she has been there. She is still quite good at this, it seems. At least, some aspects. The doorman bows to us, as is his place. His voice is the perfect balance of polite and awed. “Welcome, God and Nobody. Your patient is on the third floor in the psychiatric wing.”

I, of course, know this. I am unsure about my protege’s memory until she hisses out at the gentleman, “I remember.” I cast my gaze down in apology for my companion’s rudeness and lead her, shoulder to shoulder, through the halls of this purgatory that we cast our enemy into. I hope that, in the walk through this perfectly torturous prison, the young Nobody will realize that our actions were righteous and correct, though I understand that is likely nothing but a futile hope. Or perhaps not, I muse as she remains silent and ponderous. Perhaps she can see the truth after all these years. Finally, my pupil may be learning the game in it’s true masterful beauty.

As we approach the locked door, I offer a fraction of a plan to my colleague. “Would you permit me a few moments alone to discuss what she’s doing, before you come in?” I ask. The correct answer is yes. She appears hesitant, so I press the point with the addition of my logical explanation, “If I recall correctly, she hates you.”

Angie grunted upset, but Nobody knows I am correct and does not disagree with me, instead unlocking her part of the lock and informing me of the time limitations on mine interview with the subject. “Ten minutes.” Then, she does disappear into the depths of the asylum. Disappear, as she has always been wont to do. I unlock the latch and enter the small, cramped room. Sitting calmly on the floor before him is Olivia Marcia Tapia, the dreadful criminal otherwise known as M. One of the worst, most terrifying people I’ve ever met to this day. A brilliant mind to rival my godly one. And an absolutely twisted way of viewing friendship and love. In her own warped mind, I believe she loves those she tortures. It is a sad affair, truly, and one I cannot fathom. “Olivia,” I say as I seat myself on the floor across from her, “How’ve you been?”

“Jason,” she replies with a smile, “I love what you’ve done with your face. Looks older, worn. How was retirement? It didn’t seem to stick.” This is what she excels at. What she always excelled at. Getting under people’s skin. Knowing exactly what makes them tick.

“I’m not here to talk about me, Olivia,” I say calmly, “I’m here to talk about you.”

“We both know that’s not true,” she says, “You only would come here if something were wrong. Has the medication been treating you well? I find it can be a bit fogging of my judgement at times.”

I smile, relaxing slightly. She’s nervous. Interesting. One of the many benefits of having a mechanical face is it protects you from your own micro-expressions. People betray all kinds of information entirely accidently through their foolish, fleshy faces. “Olivia. No need to be afraid,” I say, “I come in peace. I just wish to talk.”

Every word out of my mouth, I fill with dark undertones. I let the darkness seep in, waiting for her response. The implications of the words either go right past her, or do not faze her in the slightest. “Well then,” she says with her own sinisterly sly smile, “If you wish to talk, let’s talk.”