Some rules that cohabitative living had taught him, he’d condensed in a numbered list:
That last one was harder to follow than it seemed.
Was it possible for someone to die while inside the base? Not particularly. Just as the mortals were stuck in the terrestrial simulation, they were stuck up there, on the moon, until the day in which Truth ceased to exist. However, the lack of death did not eliminate the lack of pain or dismemberment. Could you imagine being strung up by your legs and hung from a pole in the generator room, your entire body charred from the heat of the reactor, eyes ripped off and put in the palm of your dismembered hands?
Well, NAM had no need to imagine it; that was Tyrfing last week.
He woke up in the medbay, which the Flower girl had decided to cheekily dub the ‘rez point’. He came back with no wounds to speak of, but the orders that he gave out after spelled otherwise for the man’s mental state. He sprung up with the idea of guard duty, with everyone keeping watch 24/7, taking shifts as necessary. As the resident ghost robot with non-opaque limbs, he was a high performance individual when it came to not being murdered.
And so, there was NAM, trailing along the corridors of the base, his footsteps creating clangs on the metal walkway as he did as he was told. He sure hoped no one was upset about the noise. Not that any of them slept anymore- they’d given up that ruse long ago, and he didn’t need to charge up either- but the last thing he would’ve wanted was a ruckus, especially if the ruckus involved people getting mad at him.
The watch was quite simple, really. He would go through the main rooms first, making sure the observation deck was safe, then check the archive rooms A to Z, and then back to the observation deck, making a full circle through the outer ring of the facility. Then, he’d move inward, towards the reactor, the hydration rooms (which had a 13% to actually dispense water), and the parts of the maze that contained their ‘rooms’, in order to finish patrolling the inner ring. He was to do this ten times, before switching over with someone else.
At least, that’s how it was supposed to go. NAM was having a hard time finding the energy for a single round, let alone ten.
He sighed as he leaned on the kitchen doorway, eyeing the fridge. He could really go for some food. Sure, none of them needed to eat, but having that little routine helped keep spirits up. Surprisingly, having the near-eldritch horrors pretend to partake in human activities such as the consumption of food and drink was good at staving off the terrible truth that none of them were human anymore.
Well, except for him. He was a robot, so he didn’t even need to do that. He just enjoyed fitting in.
He sneaked over towards the fridge, careful to lighten his footsteps and avoid bumping into any of the chairs. His hand grasped the fridge handle. Looked behind him; no one was there. Okay. He slowly opened the door, the inside light reflecting off his armor. And, inside…
An egg. A small, painted egg inside the fridge, and nothing else of note.
NAM picked up the egg, examining it curiously. Why… why was there an easter egg inside the fridge? That can’t--
Zap! His hand jolted forward in a burst of electricity, tossing the egg out of his hands; it hit the ground with a crack. Ohh no, oh no. He had to clean it. He had to hide it before-- wait. Was that a slip of paper inside the cracked egg? He leaned down to pick it up, and focused on reading:
“sorry guys, all outta food. you can have these eggs though. man, it’d be pretty funny if you eat the one with all teh info on it and you have to find out by yourselves this is all you get :) :) :)”
NAM grumbled under his breath, hand flying to his helmet. Not again. How… how was one egg supposed to feed all of them? But the text said ‘eggs’. Were there more? Or was JR pulling another prank? Did they hide the food all across the maze again, giving them a set of cryptic clues they had to solve before they were allowed to eat?
Well, suppose there wasn’t much to mull over. He closed the fridge, letting the little light that was emanating from it fade out completely. He turned around, and—
A knife stabbed into the side of the fridge.
Oh no. Oh, no no no no. He couldn’t have been caught that unaware, right?
But oh, he was. In front of them stood the killer, one hand trailing the knife across the metal door beside him, the other gripping the tape recorder.
Having the killer this close was… odd. He’d thought they’d be taller, but with them right there, they had to be around 6 inches shorter than him. The low light and their unkempt black hair hid the rest of their features, with only two purple dots where the eyes would be staring up at him.
He… he shouldn’t be underestimating them. After all, this was the person who butchered and hung the near-seven-foot viking. There’s no evidence that they can’t stab him. Who knows what they could be capable of?
“Egg.”
Huh?
NAM blinked. “W-what?”
Their gaze lowered. “It appears we are suffering some technical difficulties in regards to our—- // —say it with me: huevo, means ‘Egg’. // Please stand by.”
They put the knife back into their belt, the edge of it sticking plainly through a rip at the bottom. Opening their jacket, sure enough, there they were: twelve pristine eggs, all with three smiley faces drawn onto them, protected by the ample padding in the inner pocket. They grabbed one of them, bringing it in front of NAM’s visor.
“Now, cook the egg—- // —do as I say, or the— // Egg. // —do as I say, or the bastard gets it!”
The robot would break out into a sweat, if he could. Life was not so merciful, as not only was he a robot, but also a ghost. “H-hey! Listen, you can’t, uh, h-h-h-h-hurt me! See?” he half-whispered, putting a hand through his chest. “I c-c-c-can just go and tell eeeeeeeeveryone, and they’ll—“
They clenched their hand into a fist, the egg cracking inside it, yolk running down and dripping onto the kitchen floor. They tilt their head. “Eleven—- // Egg.”
Were they… threatening them with their food? Oh. Oh, no, they were threatening to blame him for the missing food. Oh. Oh, he wouldn’t like that at all. How was he supposed to explain that there was food here? Furthermore, how was he supposed to tell everyone that the serial killer did not stab him to death, but instead made him cook an egg? He can’t-- he couldn’t--
Okay. Focus. NAM took a deep breath. He had to say something. “I. Uh. I glitch out. It might break. But-- but-- but—- we get the other eeeeeeeeggs back, right? You wouldn’tjust-“
The killer’s hand hovered over the eleventh egg.
Gulp. “O-okay! Just- just- pass it to me.”
Signalling to open his palm, NAM did as such. They placed the egg on it, folding his hand into a fist. A hum of satisfaction is all he got in response as they gave it a pat.
“Cook the egg.”
He nodded frantically. “Yes! Uh! Yesyesyesyesyes sir!” Hurrying over to the drawers, he let his hand linger on the knob. Maybe if he made enough sound, the others would—-
“Please, keep your voice down while the lights are off, as not to disturb the other-- // --victims.” The killer’s free hand went over to their jacket.
Okay! So much for that idea. He abandoned all hope and reached for a pan instead. “U-u-uh. I don’t thinkwehave any uh, fat left?” he muttered. “I don’t knoooow if we have enough— have enough—-“
“That won’t be necessary.” They reached inside their jacket again, pulling out... a stick of butter?
“Y-yeah. Of course! Right. Of course you’d have that,” said the robot, in a rare case of potential sarcasm. “Just! Just- just- just- just hand it over.”
The killer left the half-melted butter on the counter. “Is there anything else you need?”
“N-no! That’s it! Maybe uh, salt later, but we-w-w-we definitely have that.” He coughed. “Hm.”
NAM closed the drawer and headed off to the stove. A jolt of electricity ran through his body as he touched the metal, turning it on before he had a chance to. That... that works. With a knife, he began to spread the butter across the pan; it gave no fight, with how warm it already was.
They stood there as he did so, with just the soft crackle of the stove fire, and the background hum of the base to keep him company. His hands twitched.
He couldn’t believe what he was about to ask, but if he didn’t, the egg wouldn’t have been the only thing cracking that night.
“Uhm. Silence isn’t. Really my forté,” he said, eyes locked onto the butter. It bubbled as it melted further. “So, uh… why did you stab the viking guy, again? That was, uh. We. We weren’texpectingto-to- to find him like… that.”
He wasn’t close enough to catch it with confidence, but he swore he could hear the killer laughing under their breath. A short, rough snicker, just out of his range of hearing. “Many are curious about the murders-- // --is that you?”
The robot winced. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m… I’m asking.”
Another chuckle. What was so funny about a murder? Well, he wasn’t a murderer, he just witnessed a lot of it. He supposed he’d never know. “Very well. // The following presentation is meant for mature audiences only.”
They popped the tape recorder open, taking out the cassette; from their pant pocket, they grabbed another one, cheekily labeled ‘Hot Goss’. Eyeing the other cassette, a fact became readily apparent; while the one they’d taken out had a labelled A-side and a B-side, the one they had did not. Was the track new? Well, he figured it was harder to record two sides on the go. With that, they inserted it, and the recording began:
“All right, you rat. Where the hell are you?” Tyrfing’s voice, thunderous as always, played through the tape recorder. The quality of the recording was somewhat worn, as if it had already seen some use. “I will not have you interrupting the great work any longer! Do you think this is some kind of fucking game? I will find you, and I will—“
A deafening alarm-- the alarm of the reactor-- played off. The lights must’ve powered down by then. “Hrk! Turn the lights back on, you—-“
The sounds of struggle. Three steps were taken back, presumably by the viking, from the slamming and scratching of the armor. A hard smash onto the floor. Then, silence.
A shaky breath. Then, two. Tyrfing’s voice rang again, further away from whatever was recording it than before. “You are… very funny. A doll. You had me fighting a fucking doll.” He huffed. “You… waste my time. There are others trying to live here, you, you… heretic.”
Something plush hit the floor-- the doll, he presumed. Tyrfing must’ve tossed it.
The whisper of machinery. It started off as a low hum. Then, the cacophony of steam pipes joined in, all of them wheezing in the distance. And then, the kicker: the whirring of the disc in the middle. The sound that spelled seconds before the reactor started up.
A door shut. A bang of metal against tempered glass.
“You--”
A click forward.
Frantic, uneven gasps. Grunts, as well. The thud of a knife struggling against tough meat.
“You--”
Another grunt. The chattering of teeth, as one does in a bite.
“Do you think-- this will stop me? You-- you--”
The sentence devolved into a whine. Something preventing him from speaking? A mouth pried open.
A sharp slice. He didn’t speak again.
Oh.
The soft click of the stop button was both a blessing and a curse, as the killer switched the tapes yet again.
NAM held his breath. He was holding his breath. What breath? He let it out. The… the butter. The pan was oiled. Right. He didn’t notice he’d stopped. He hadn’t even noticed his hand slamming on top of the leftover butter, rendering it unusable.
“Was our service satisfactory?”
“Uhm.” NAM tried to grip the egg, a small chip coming off it as his fingers involuntarily twitched. He didn’t want to ask the next question. But he had to. He cracked the egg on the pan, letting the yolk drip down.
“Why?”
A tilt. “Please repeat yourself.”
“Why?” He didn’t know what he was feeling. Was it anger? Panic? His hands shook harder, sparks flying off him. “You—- you had to have knownoonenoonenoone could die here! We all knew that! All you did was h-h-h-h-hurt him, and for what? You—“
The killer put a finger to his lips, giving him a ‘shh.’ NAM stood there, vibrating in fury, nervousness, no, terror, before he… sighed. His eyes lowered towards the egg.
“Cook the egg. // Then, we’ll talk.”
NAM bit his lip. “Fine.”
What exactly had he done to end up in this situation? Well, he guessed that wasn’t an easy answer; nothing about him had easy answers. It was either him or his dad, or where he came from, or that ‘Arbiter of Truth’ whispering things into his ear for him to parrot. He supposed being the previous ‘Herald’ would do that to him.
Maybe he didn’t ‘deserve’ it. Maybe it wasn’t about deserving at all, was it? It was just… another weird thing that was happening in his existence, another fucked up thing in the conga line of fucked up things that had happened to him so far. That felt familiar enough to him. He’d come to accept his life was mostly weird things.
All things considered, this was the least terrible of them. Everyone was mostly nice to him. He could move, which was new. He could cook an egg. He was cooking an egg. Yes, his body sometimes moved in erratic ways or not at all, and he was being held hostage by the fear of social embarrassment or the fear of pain, but he didn’t even know if he could be hurt, and he worried what he’d say the next day, and if anyone would believe him, but he was there. And he was cooking an egg.
Speaking of, the egg seemed about done: the white had settled into a nice, glistening form, with the yolk adorning it not too runny, but not too hard, either. It was not the perfect egg, but for the conditions they’d been living in, it was alright. And alright was more than enough in this situation.
Oh god. He was currently evaluating the egg he was cooking for the actual, literal serial killer. He shook his head as he turned off the stove, then sprinkled it with the appropriate salt. “It’s, uh, done.”
The killer nodded, sitting on one of the chairs, ‘eyes’ more on him than on the food. “Bring it over.”
Well, there went nothing. Bringing over a plate, NAM slid the egg onto it, then left it on the table. He stared down at it. He had to. How couldn’t he? He’d actually just cooked a meal for a hostage situation.
The killer glanced at it briefly, then locked back onto him. “This is acceptable --// Egg.” They tapped at the table, then pointed at the chair across it. “Please, take a seat.”
NAM blinked. “The… the eggs. Ididwhatyou-you-you asked. Give me the eggs.”
The killer shook their head. “You will be compensated for your cooperation. // Tengo hambre. This means ‘I am hungry’. // Please, take a seat. // I assume you have questions—- // Previously, on—-“
“Oh. Uh.” He squinted, looking them over. Was this… a trick? It had to be. But it was fine, right? They couldn’t possibly hurt them in a way that mattered. All they had to do was move… forward. “Okay.” He stumbled his way to the chair and sat as instructed.
The killer grasped the knife once again, this time driving it into the egg. The yolk spilled out onto the plate. They stared down at it.
“Oh,” he muttered, gaze locked on the egg as well. “G-g-guess you don't have a fork. I- I- can—-“ If he could grab a fork, he could jam it into them, or something--
Before he could answer, they’d gripped with their gloved hand the slice of the egg that had been cut, bringing it to their… mouth? He hoped so. It looked more like it’d disappeared into the void behind their hair.
“Oh. That. That works too.”
Silence fell over the kitchen once again. Then, the sound of a new tape being inserted. And then, a click.
“—-isn’t she?” The Closer’s voice rang out from the tape recorder. It was distanced, muffled by the sound of uneven breathing, reverberated inside a small space. The sound of flowing air was apparent. The vents?
“Huh? Sorry, wasn't listening, what?” That was unmistakably the flower girl.
“The killer. She’s an interesting one. I figured our little contract would change her, of course, but I had not expected her to end up… with us.” She lingered on that, the slightest tone of concern in her tone; with a well-placed cough, it was gone. “But it doesn't matter. It is what Truth wants. Now we just have to deal with it.”
“Yeah! We’ll just sit around until this super-aggro serial killer turns us all into itty bitty sashimi pieces!”
“Sarcasm, hm? That’s new for you.”
“Well yeah, what else am I supposed to say?! Is this a prompt? Do you want me to click that line on your Skyrim selection tree? Would that help?”
“...a ‘Skyrim’?”
“You-- you sold video games! What do you mean-- okay! Okay, yeah, sorry, I’m going too far, my b. Whaaat is theeere to doo?”
“What is there? There’s nothing to worry about. We can’t die, neither can she. She might cause us problems here and there, but inevitably, she’s going to realize that, as well. At that point, all we have to do is… out-bore her.”
“Out-bore her? I mean, we could take her to the paint drying room, parade it around?”
She sighed. “I suppose that might do. As long as we don’t hunt her down, she should lose interest.”
The other one pauses. “But what if she starts hunting us?”
Click.
NAM startled. Wait. There was more. Where was she--
He blinked, wiping his visor. She wasn’t sitting in front of him anymore. Where was she? Behind him? He turned to look. She was over by the fridge, pulling the eggs out of the pockets. One, two, three, four, five… yep, ten eggs, safe and sound, back where they were supposed to be.
“Woah! Hold--” he caught himself, modulating his voice back to a whisper. “Hold on! Whereareyou going?”
“You-- // --accept the terms and conditions-- // Ten eggs-- // in a box.” She stepped aside, letting him see the hostages, all freed. “We will be departing shortly.”
“I-- yeah. Okay. You’re not--” Going to kill him? Use his guts to make a meat toboggan? He didn’t have guts, what was he thinking? It was the fear talking, surely. He nodded. This was. Could he leave?
“Uhm. I have t-t-t-to ask though. My q-q-q-q-q-question. You didn’t. You didn’t answer it.” He pointed to the small tape box. “You.. you have them there. You know we can’t die. Then… why?”
The killer continued walking towards the door, not looking back. “Memento mori. ``Remember you must die’’-- // --display a memento mori intended for the living.”
A warning? He got nothing out of that one. They saw death in droves, already, out there-- hard to not be aware of it, in these parts. What would one more body do?
Or maybe that was the point. That one of them actually dying would just be one more body.
He would rather not think about that.
“And, uh… why, kidnap me for… for an egg? I could’ve ran? You could;ve cooked it. I could-could-could’ve tried to fight back. I could tell them you were... here.”
That made her stop in her tracks. She brought a hand to where her chin would be, in thought, her head lowering to stare at her hands.
His own voice rang out this time, buzzing with static. Another one of those philosophy rambles he couldn’t remember. “You mustn't hide too well. You mustn't be too good at the game. The player must never be bigger than the game itself.”Another pause.
“Besides-- // I wanted-- // --egg.”
With that, they were gone, their silhouette walking out the doorway.
And it was back where it started: with NAM standing in the kitchen by itself, letting the person they had been tracking just walk away. His foot slipped on something-- the egg he’d dropped earlier. Right. He should clean that, he figured, as he went looking for a napkin.
What was that about? Something about being hunted? Tyrfing wasn’t attacked out of nowhere; he was looking for her, and then he died.
He couldn’t just let that happen, right?
But he could. It was the only thing to do. As long as they didn’t hunt her down, she’d lose interest. Still, why would she target him, knowing she couldn’t hurt him? Why make him cook an egg? None of them needed to eat, so the answer made no sense. He could tell the others, but they wouldn’t believe him. They’d think he was crazy.
Unless they did believe him. Unless they started searching as well.
“I should keep looking,” he muttered to himself. “Didn’t see anything. Didn’t see anything at all.”