《Wild West Hero in the Land of the Robot Maids》 Hero Hero I sat and pondered my sorry situation as the bumps caused by the carriage shot up my seat and seared straight into my spine. It had finally happened: the law had caught up to me. I guess it was inevitable; a man can only luck out in this business so many times before a bullet or the noose caught up with him. Didn¡¯t mean I had to like it. ¡°Hero,¡± said the thin, mangey scum sack seated next to me. He was an ugly man, his mutt-like features more than telling that his parents most likely had the same parents. Seated lazily against the cushioned seat of the coach, rifle loosely held in his right hand with the stock resting on top of one knee, he did not look like your typical county deputy. But, regardless of his qualifications, the tin star on his chest testified to his official position. Maricopa county must be desperate for deputies if they had to hire this nitwit. ¡°Hero. Hero. Hero?¡± Deputy Bumblefuck continued to say. ¡°Hero. Now, what kind of notorious bank-robbin¡¯, murderin¡¯, bushwackin¡¯, horse-nappin¡¯ son of a gun would have the balls to go around with the name Hero?¡± The other deputy, seated to my left, let out an annoying chuckle. Unlike his scarecrow of a friend, this one at least had some meat on him. Sadly most of that meat was fat from his belly, though most the rest of him were normal sized. His rifle was resting with its butt on the carriage floor, his left hand holding the barrel upwards. I eyed his sidearm, a Remington holstered on his right hip, for just a moment, hopefully not long enough for the man seated across from me to notice. Unlike the two surrounding me, the man on the other side of the compartment looked the part of a lawman. Neatly trimmed beard, powerful build, and a nicely pressed suit that was now all but covered in dust from the road. He, too, had a tin star on his lapel, though this one had a circle of metal around the star, along with the words ¡°UNITED STATES MARSHAL¡± etched onto it. ¡°You ain¡¯t no hero,¡± the first deputy said, his mongoloid face twisted in a sneer directed at me. ¡°Men like the Marshal,¡± he nodded to the man, who looked like he was doing his best to ignore the conversation, ¡°and Ben and me! We¡¯re the real heroes. Not scoundrels like you!¡± I sighed in annoyance. I got asked this question a lot, and usually I would ignore it. But at the moment I was a bit of a captive audience to this knuckle-headed oaf so I might as well indulge myself. ¡°I wasn¡¯t named Hero after your dime novel protagonists, you dimwit. I was named after Hero of Alexandria.¡± What I said didn¡¯t seem to impress him much, as he had a confounded look upon his face. ¡°And who the fuck is Hero of Alexandria?¡± I indulged myself further and rolled my eyes at him. ¡°Hero of Alexandria was one of the greatest inventors of antiquity. He made steam engines and talking automatons. My father had an unhealthy interest in ancient history.¡± The deputy just seemed even more confused. ¡°Don¡¯t think too hard, you illiterate ape. You might hurt yourself.¡± ¡°Oh, fuck you!¡± the deputy snarled, moving as if to pounce on me. The marshal¡¯s loud shout stopped him in his tracks. ¡°Chuck, that¡¯s enough!¡± The product of incest, whose name was apparently Chuck, sat back down and resumed his lazy recline on the seat, mumbling epithets under his breath the whole time. ¡°And you,¡± the marshal turned his hawkish gaze to me, his steel gray eyes pinning me to the seat. ¡°Sit back and shut up. As soon as we get to town, you¡¯ll have a date with the gallows.¡± I hid my sneer, maintaining a neutral expression. The marshal seemed disappointed that I wasn¡¯t going to take the bait and sat back, turning his attention out the window. And so, I sat and waited. Despite the marshal seemingly capable of doing his job, it was more than obvious that he had no idea who he was dealing with. If he did, he would have brought more men.
Many folk often told me that I had a sixth sense. They said that I always knew the right moment to act on something, whether it be a robbery, cards, or just plain old shooting down a man in the street. I don¡¯t believe in such hocus pocus though; I was raised by a rational man and he taught me how to see the world as it was. Instead of falling on superstition or faith, I relied on my brain to get me out of rough situations, situations which would often lead men of lesser stock plain dead. I just knew when to take advantage of the right moment to strike. Of when to charge into a bank, guns steady, when there were the least amount of people in it. Or when to light the fuse on a few sticks of dynamite to cause a rockslide that buries only the engine of a steam locomotive instead of crushing all of the train cars and along with the cache of gold being transported within it. Or even when to go all in on a hand of cards because I noticed a small tick in the other fellow¡¯s face, telling me that he was bluffing. So no, I don¡¯t have no psychic powers. All I had was the distinct and rare ability to know when to act. So when the carriage hit a rock or some sort of dip in the trail, causing me, the Marshal, and the two idiots to rock violently to and forth, I knew that the time to act was now. The shake-up caused Chuck to lose hold of his rifle for a moment and the stock slipped off his thigh. He was quicker than I gave him credit for, as he managed to catch the gun in both hands by the barrel before it could topple to the floor. Unfortunately for him, that left the muzzle pointed directly in his face. Chuck the Fuck may have been fast, but I was faster. As soon as he caught the gun, I lunged for the trigger as fast as my manacled hands allowed. Thankfully it was enough, and I managed to get my pinky inside the bronze trigger guard. I pushed forwards with all my might, and pressed down on the trigger. A simultaneous explosion of the rifle going off, blowing apart the deputy¡¯s head, as well as the loud snap of my pinkie finger breaking that was more felt than heard, occurred. The event happened so fast that the Marshal and the other goon didn¡¯t react as fast as they should have. It might have been that the carriage was still jostling, or maybe they were shocked at seeing their friend¡¯s ugly face blown apart by his own gun. Hell, it was probably both. I didn¡¯t give them another second to react as, like always, I seized the situation. Ignoring my injured finger, I lunged to the other side of my seat, intent on grabbing deputy pudgy¡¯s gun. He noticed my movements and tried to draw his pistol, but I managed to grab it as well and the two of us began struggling for the weapon. The Marshal was not idle during this, as he too began to act. He drew his pistol from his belt (it was one of those new semi-automatic contraptions that used a magazine system instead of a cylinder) and was in the process of pointing it at me. Seeing my imminent demise, as well as noting that I had a perfectly working gun in my hands at that moment, I acted, too. Pudgy had his finger inside the trigger guard, the large digit resting tightly on the trigger and ready to blow a hole in me as soon as he got the chance. I didn¡¯t give it to him, and instead pushed hard on his hand, causing the finger to jerk. The Remington fired, shooting a .45 caliber round right into the Marshal¡¯s shoulder as he was lunging forwards. The man let out a pained grunt, his right hand going numb causing his gun to drop to the floor as the force of the shot slammed him back against his seat. Undeterred, the lawman snarled and launched himself at me me again.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. I stomped my right boot¡¯s back heel against the floor, causing a hidden knife to flick out of a secret slit under the sole. Like my namesake, I liked to tinker with a few gadgets, too. Nothing fancy, but they sure as hell came in handy. Like now. These morons may have taken my pistol and rifle away when they caught me, but they sure as hell didn¡¯t take all my weapons. I quickly lashed up with my foot, catching the Marshal directly between his legs. As I felt the knife easily pierce into the soft flesh, the lawman let out a loud, unholy shriek. He fell to the floor of the carriage, hands clutching his profusely bleeding groin, and just continued to scream out in agony. Meanwhile, me and Pudgy were still wrestling for that gun. The deputy had a tight grip around it with both hands while I was trying to pry those said hands open all the while struggling to keep the pistol¡¯s muzzle pointed away from me. He wasn¡¯t budging, so I lashed my head forwards and smashed my skull into his face. He grunted in pain but did not relent his grip. I continued head bashing him over and over, but even after getting a swollen eye and busted nose, he would not let go. So instead of prying, I pushed. I used all my strength to push forwards, putting my right foot on the opposite bench to leverage my body against his. Slowly, oh so slowly, I was pushing the gun upwards towards his head. Sweat was pouring from both me and the deputy as we struggled, but I was winning. As the gunbarrel drew closer, Pudgy began talking. ¡°No¡­ no¡­ no no¡­ no no no no!¡± He continued barking like a seal all the way til the muzzle was pressed against his chin. I did my part in shuffling him off this mortal coil, and pushed down on his finger that held the trigger. There was a loud POP! And soon Deputy Pudgy¡¯s head was decorating the carriage walls as well as most of my face. ¡°Shit,¡± I let out a relieved breath. I sat back on the bench and began wiping the blood and gore off my heavily panting face. I saw that the Marshal was still on the floor of the carriage, no longer screaming, but his face was red and sweaty, and his body was trembling. ¡°Deputy Lardboy over there was stronger than he looked,¡± I told him. ¡°Gotohell!¡± The Marshal hissed out between tightly clenched teeth, veins sticking out of his forehead. I chuckled darkly and picked up Pudgy¡¯s Remington. It took a few moments as I had to pry apart fingers that still gripped the gun tightly. I smiled when I aimed the gun towards the fallen U.S. Marshal. ¡°You first.¡± Then I pulled the trigger, and put him out of his misery.
It took me a while to notice that the carriage had stopped. Looking out the window, I saw that we weren¡¯t anywhere near our final destination. Nothing but dirt and the occasional sprout of brown vegetation for miles. I quickly spotted a figure running in the distance, towards the direction of a set of nearby hills. The coach driver. I guess he heard the commotion inside and decided to hightail it out of there. Though I admired the man¡¯s will to survive, I couldn¡¯t have anybody reporting about my successful break-out too early. I needed miles between me and this coach, and for that to happen I needed all the hours of blissful lawman ignorance I could get. It would probably be until after dark when the Marshal and his goons would be missed, and a few more hours after that before a posse was rounded up to ride out and look for them. And that wouldn¡¯t happen if Mr. Driver made it out of here alive to warn folk. Taking my time, I searched the Marshal¡¯s pockets and found the key to my shackles. After getting rid of those iron sons of bitches, I took his gunbelt as well as the shiny new semi-auto the lawman was carrying. Frankly, I had no idea how it worked, but I figured I could either learn to or sell it for a nice sum. I was grabbing for his hat when I noticed the shiny tin badge on his lapel. UNITED STATES MARSHAL. ¡°Might come in handy,¡± I said with a smirk. Like a rose from a rosebush I unplucked that tin star from the Marshal¡¯s cooling corpse and pinned it on my own lapel. It might not fool everybody, but it¡¯d fool enough. Out here in the dust and the bullets, a man needed all the help he could get. I opened the door and stepped out of the carriage, scanning the landscape in the direction of the fleeing driver. I spotted him easily, as he was only about half a mile away and was now limping. Probably tripped over a rock, which slowed his progress some. Reaching into the carriage, I pulled out Chuck¡¯s rifle. Like everything in there, the weapon was covered in blood. I cringed as I held the filthy thing to my cheek and aimed down the sights. ¡°Sorry,¡± I said to the man just before I pulled the trigger. I always apologized whenever I was forced to kill an innocent. Sure, it didn¡¯t amount to much in the end, but it had to account for something. I started doing it when I killed a native boy by accident, some twenty years back. I must have said the same word forty or fifty times since then. I¡¯ve said it so many times that the word itself lost all meaning to me. I don¡¯t think I even feel sorry anymore; I don¡¯t feel anything anything at all. I probably just do it mostly out of habit now more than anything else. Whatever, it was time to go. Seeing as I had no idea how to drive a coach, (Shit. Maybe I should¡¯ve kept that driver alive until he drove me to my safehouse. Whoops.) I unhitched one of the horses. Riding bareback was a pain, but I could do it. I exchanged Chuck¡¯s rifle for Pudgy¡¯s since it was less messy, then hopped on that horse and rode for the sunset. I saw no one for miles around. Life was good to you sometimes.
And a bitch most of the time. The posse found me about four hours after leaving the bloody coach. I had settled down for a rest by a creek I knew of nearby. The horse went over to have a drink while I used the time to stretch my legs and plan out in my head what my next move would be. My safehouse was ten miles¡¯ ride northeast, and from there I can get some ammunition and provisions. Then I could either ride south to the border or hide out with some friends in the canyon. I decided to wait until I got to the safehouse to plan things out further. I had half a day¡¯s head start on the law after all. I was getting the horse ready to head out when I heard the familiar crack of a rifle being discharged. I had no time to react when I felt a sledgehammer blow to my back. Things got fuzzy for a moment, and when my mind cleared I realized that I was sprawled out face-down upon the ground. I knew for sure that I had just been shot. Shit. How did Johnny Law find me so fast? Nobody could have spotted the mess inside the coach, then headed to town to alert the authorities in such a short amount of time. It made no sense. And now I had a hole the size of a half dollar in the middle of my back. Strangely, frighteningly, I felt no pain. Only numbness in my arms and legs. My back felt horribly sore, the type of sore you¡¯d get if you¡¯ve been working out in the fields for hours on end. I tried to stand, to move any of my limbs, but they refused to budge. Thankfully my neck still worked, and I turned my head upon hearing approaching footsteps. ¡°He¡¯s still alive.¡± Four people emerged from the sparse shrubbery around the creek. Three men, one woman. The woman was holding a long barreled sharpshooting rifle, one with an attached brass Malcolm Scope running atop the barrel. From the smug look on her face I could tell that this was the bitch who shot me. ¡°That him?¡± asked one of the men, who was dressed in leather and furs and had a long, bushy beard that made him look like a trapper or mountainman. ¡°Yup,¡± said another man, this one dressed like a banker. ¡°Excellent,¡± said the bitch. She was wearing a long tan duster and looked like a dime-store cowboy. ¡°The Law owes us for this.¡± The last member of the group, a Chinaman in black, squatted next to me. ¡°Are you sure? This was way too easy. Hero Beaumont took out a U.S. Marshal and two strong deputies. I thought he¡¯d put up more of a fight.¡± ¡°Lean a bit closer and I¡¯ll show you a fight, you stinkin¡¯ Celestial!¡± I snarled in fury. This was so stupid. I survived gunfights and shootouts that left better men than me dead. I¡¯ve pulled off fantastical robberies and survived suicidal runs into injun territory. Now I¡¯m gonna be killed by these bunch of bushwackin¡¯ bastards? The banker turned his head, regarding something to his left. ¡°Yup. This is the guy. The newspaper photos corroborates it.¡± ¡°Man alive,¡± the Chinaman said, his shoulders slumping a little. ¡°How disappointing. I wanted a good fight. Whatever,¡± he pulled out his six-shooter and aimed at my head. ¡°Let¡¯s get this stupid contract over with.¡± And with that, he pulled the trigger. And just like that, I was dead. Too bad I didn¡¯t stay that way. Interlude 01: The Posse that Killed Me Interlude 01: The Posse that Killed Me ¡°Got ¡®im!¡± Jessica said after the shot went out. In the distance the party of four saw the dark figure by the creek collapse. ¡°Shit, seriously? That¡¯s it?¡± Anthony asked, an annoyed look on his fake face. ¡°What, we lucked out. Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re actually disappointed that we got the drop on him,¡± said Will, his avatar looking more like a dwarf from Tolkein than someone from 19th Century America. ¡°Of course not,¡± Anthony replied. He and the rest of the party began moving towards the location of their quarry. ¡°It¡¯s just that this guy is supposed to be a high-level NPC and everyone in town¡¯s scared of him, like he¡¯s a god damn boogeyman or something. I mean, he took out Dave!¡± The group broke out of the underbrush and into the notorious outlaw¡¯s camp. There a nervous horse and the sprawled body of said outlaw met them. ¡°He¡¯s still alive,¡± Jessica stated. ¡°That him?¡± Will asked Mark. ¡°Yup,¡± Mark answered back. He had been the one to accept the quest, so the details were in his logs. ¡°Cool,¡± Jessica said with a smile. ¡°Dave is soooo gonna owe us for this.¡± Anthony moved over to the body of the prostrated NPC and squatted in front of him.¡°Are you sure? This was way too easy. Hero Beaumont took out a Level 45 Player and two Level 30 NPCs. I thought he¡¯d put up more of a fight.¡± ¡°Lean a bit closer and I¡¯ll show you a fight, you stinkin¡¯ Celestial!¡± shouted the outlaw. Mark brought up his web browser and activated one of the saved tabs. ¡°Yup. This is the guy. The wiki corroborates it.¡± ¡°Oh man,¡± Anthony said glumly. ¡°How disappointing. I wanted a good fight. Whatever,¡± he pulled out his six-shooter and aimed at the prone NPC. ¡°Let¡¯s get this stupid quest over with.¡± ¡°Wait!¡± Jessica shouted. Before anyone could stop him though, Anthony pulled the trigger. A bright splatter of red flowered out from the outlaw¡¯s head.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. ¡°Dammit, Ant!¡± Will shouted in frustration. ¡°What?¡± Anthony stood up and put up his hands. He was obviously confused at why his friends were acting this way. ¡°If we¡¯d brought him in alive, we¡¯d get the bonus three times xp and money!¡± Will shook his head in agitation. ¡°Why do you always jump the gun like this, Ant?¡± ¡°Oh shut up,¡± the young player pointed at the now cooling corpse. ¡°Did you forget that Dave tried to do the same EXACT thing to this guy? And how¡¯d that turn out for him?¡± ¡°He¡¯s got a point,¡± Mark stated. ¡°At least we still get the ¡®Hero Killer¡¯ title,¡± Jessica said with a smirk, trying to get Will to look on the bright side. Will shook his head, but a small smile still formed on his lips. ¡°Fine, fine. Let¡¯s just get the body back to town so we can get this quest completed. Oh, and be sure to grab Dave¡¯s badge so he can get in the game again. Seriously, I didn¡¯t even know a Founder¡¯s item could be looted, let alone by an NPC.¡± The group turned to the corpse of one of the most infamous bosses in the game, but all were shocked when the body became engulfed in a bright blue glow. The glow intensified until it flared into a white glare, then suddenly it blinked out leaving nothing behind except for a large puddle of blood. ¡°What the hell?¡± Jessica said. ¡°I knew it!¡± Anthony shouted. ¡°I knew that guy wasn¡¯t Beaumont!¡± ¡°Oh shit,¡± Will said. ¡°We just PK¡¯d a player!¡± ¡°But the wiki¡­¡± Mark trailed off. ¡°Fuck the wiki. That guy was obviously just some player who made his character look like Hero Beaumont. You know, like that asshole back in town who made his avatar look like Sephiroth.¡± Anthony shrugged. ¡°Shit. Now we have to start back at square one.¡± ¡°Guys!¡± Will spat out. He looked panicked, and almost on the verge of hyperventilating. ¡°We just PK¡¯d a player! That means that guy can hire bounty hunters to come after us! And we can¡¯t enter towns to resupply!¡± ¡°Calm down, Will,¡± Jessica placed a comforting hand on her friend¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Our IDs aren¡¯t red!¡± Will stopped panicking, then checked his status window. He let out a long breath of relief when he saw that the box was the same friendly green color it always was. ¡°But how?¡± Anthony asked. ¡°We definitely killed a player. NPCs don¡¯t respawn like that, not in this game.¡± ¡°Who knows?¡± Will said. ¡°I scared myself shitless, guys. Let¡¯s go back to town and log out. I¡¯m done for the day.¡± ¡°¡®Kay,¡± Mark stated. ¡°I¡¯ll file a bug report with the forums.¡± ¡°No!¡± Will shouted, almost panicking once again. ¡°If you tell them this, we¡¯ll get marked as Reds for sure!¡± ¡°But we¡¯re beta testers,¡± Mark crossed his arms. ¡°It¡¯s our job to find bugs and report them.¡± ¡°This is open beta, dumbass!¡± Will retorted. ¡°Nobody does that shit!¡± And so the group of friends continued their argument. None of them knew that the strange event that had occurred would mark a monumental moment in video game history. 惟 03 ¦¸ 03 I was never a very church-going man, so I never really gave much thought to the hereafter. By the time I was old enough to have the maturity in order to appreciate my own mortality, I had done enough that was antithetical to the good book that such questions about the afterlife were pointless since I was more than likely bound for Hell¡¯s fiery embrace. So you can imagine my surprise that when I finally did die and found not fire and brimstone but a small room with wooden flooring and plaster walls. In front of me was a group of women, or to be more factual and definitive, a group of maids. There two lines along of them standing against the front and back walls, each facing towards each other. And me, I guess. All wore identical sets of scullery maid uniforms, which consisted of a calf-length black skirt and blouse with white trim, white ruffled pinafore, white stockings, and black ankle-length leather boots with a two-inch heel. They also had a ruffled headband, black silk cravat tied around their collars, not to mention expensive looking white gloves. These ladies were definitely of a much fancier sort of maid than I was used to. They were probably the type of maid you¡¯d find at the White House, or serving a royal family. What made this group most peculiar was the fact that their skin was made of porcelain. Upon first sight, I had reasonably assumed that they were just wearing masks. But the closer I looked the more I saw. The shiny, white material didn¡¯t end at their faces; you could see more of it peeking from their neck collars and the space between their gloves and sleeves. I would have assumed then that these things were just really big dolls. Unfortunately, the fact that the one directly in front of me was moving dissuaded me of such notions. The porcelain maid was tilting its head to and fro, its eyes obviously scanning me as much as I was scanning it. And those eyes. Oh boy, those eyes. They were creepy. Nothing like a doll¡¯s eyes at all, something made to mimic human peepers. These eyes were inhuman. The sclera was some type of silvery metal; hell, with how opulently dressed these things were, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if it was silver. The irises on the other hand were brass. Each resembled camera shutters, with each plate of brass moving to open and close the pupil, which from what I could see was just simple glass. The creepiest feature of these metal eyes though was the glowing. From behind the pupil I could see some sort of eerie, dim blue glow. Almost like the inside of the doll woman¡¯s head was hollow and contained a single candle that was alight with a blue flame. Moving from the eyes, I immediately noticed some lettering etched upon the maid¡¯s forehead. The first letter was the Greek symbol omega, followed by the numbers zero and three. Omega Zero Three. The hell did that mean? Was it some sort of unit designation like in the army? If so, then that¡¯s one fucked up army. Not only do they use old Greek, but their soldiers are automaton toys in fancy maid outfits. The enemy would probably die in laughter before a single shot was heard. What I didn¡¯t get was the placing of those letters. Each symbol was etched onto the maid¡¯s porcelain forehead backwards. It was almost like the letters you would see in a¡­ mirror. Shit. I moved to lift my right hand. The woman in front of me moved her left. I shook my head; the doll did the same. Finally, I looked to my left and saw another maid, this one identical to the one in front of me, except for the fact that she was also facing forwards as I was, and the etching on her forehead marked her as Omega Zero Four. It was then that I noticed that on the floor was the demarcation the wooden boards, one that stretched all across the length of the room parallel to me and the other maids I was standing with. There was no second line of doll maids. The scene in front of me was in fact a mirror, one that was reflecting what was in front of it. Which turned out to be me, along with along line of dolls. I tried to take a deep breath, but then I noticed that I wasn¡¯t breathing. I looked down at my hands and saw them covered in white silk gloves. They also looked thinner and more delicate than they should have. Nope, these hands definitely have never fired a gun nor have they ever throttled the life out of a man. And for some reason I was wearing the same maid uniform as the other creepy doll women, and yes, those were breasts that seemed to be sticking out from the front of said maid outfit. Though I had never found myself in a situation such as this, I would have thought that if ever I had the occasion to wake up in a dress, then I most definitely be panicking out of my god damned mind. For some reason though, I was completely, utterly calm. Instead of screaming, shouting, and running around like a headless chicken, I just stayed where I was, standing with the other dolls and staring down at my maid-coutured self. Looking back at the mirror, I stared at the doll-me¡¯s face. It was like a porcelain mask: beautiful, but stiff, unmoving. Cold. The blue, glowing eyes didn¡¯t help make her look any nicer or more approachable. She also had long black hair that was tied back in a severe bun, all of which was under that stupid looking ruffled hair band. I looked around and saw that the other maids had the same hairstyle that doll-me did, but they had various different hair colors. Four was a ginger while Five was a blonde. Two to my right was auburn while One had snow-white hair. What the hell was going on? Although I was far from panicking, the fact was that I was still thoroughly confused by the situation. I was dead, that much I knew. Was this hell then? I always knew that when I bought the farm, Satan and his twisted servants would lay claim to my soul. Yet now¡­ where was the devil and his kin? Where was the fire and brimstone? Or was Hell really just some bad joke where I spent the rest of eternity as a doll maid? What the hell was I anyway? As soon as I had those thoughts, something strange happened. A blue box or page appeared hovering in mid-air before me, inside of which was a long string of words which made absolutely no sense to me.
Name: ¦¸ 03 Race: Automaton Class: N/A LEVEL: 23
Job:
  • Maid - lvl. 55
  • Driver - lvl. 12
  • Cook - lvl. 30
  • Guard - lvl. 15
  • Artificer - lvl. 6
Skill Points: 25/64 Assigned
  • STR - 5
  • DEX - 5
  • AGI - 5
  • INT - 5
  • MAG - 5
Proficiency: 0/7 Assigned
If I wasn¡¯t sure before, I was damned sure of it now. I was definitely in Hell. Only the sermons lied about what Hell actually was. Hell wasn¡¯t about punishment and brimstone and fires and all that scary shit. Hell was about confusing the bad thoughts right out of you every step of the way until your brain melted inside your skull and you couldn¡¯t tell reality from a fever dream. I was jolted out of my internal monologuing about the afterlife when the other maids suddenly jumped into motion. They lifted their heads, each coming to life with a whirr of internal machinery. Eyes began to light up with the same dim glow as mine, but unlike me the other maids had a silver colored light emitting from their pupils. The maids, as one, stepped forwards, bringing themselves closer to the wall-length mirror in front of us. Each doll then began to fret and fix their uniforms and hair, making sure their appearance was pristine. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! What the hell were they up to? I was trying to watch the now living maids preening themselves in front of the mirror, but the unnatural floating box of weird words blocked most of my sight. Go away, I thought towards the box, and lo and behold, it actually did so. Unfortunately, there was another box waiting for me behind the one that just vanished. This box was smaller than the other, but was flashing an angry red.
0800! Prepare for duties!
I thought to the box to go away as well, and like its bigger brother it obediently did so. The maids looked like they had finally finished their primping as they were now perfectly still. A second later, each maid performed a perfect right face, each doll pivoting on their heels in unison to the right before clicking their boot soles together and standing at attention. My old drilling sergeant would have pissed himself in glee if he had these ladies to train with. After a few moments of perfect stillness, Omega Zero One started moving, heading towards a door that I hadn¡¯t noticed before. It looked to be the only exit in the room. As One stepped forwards, Two followed, then Four, and so on. They exited the room in perfect synch, and would have been a glorious sight at any marching band parade. The only thing that marred their performance was the empty space between Two and Four. I suppose that was where I was supposed to be marching if I ever had the inclination to be acting like some pretty performing doll, which I most certainly did not. Finally, after the last maid went through the door (It was Omega Zero Twelve if you were curious) the wooden portal shut with a soft click. I was left in the room all alone, which gave me time to actually think about the current situation. I looked to my reflection again, still not believing what I was seeing. I made to do as the other dolls did earlier by stepping forwards, and I was amazed at how smooth and graceful the thing in the mirror moved. I should have tripped on my ass moving about in those lady shoes, but somehow this weird doll-like body moved with a grace and finesse that was¡­ unnatural. Upon closer inspection of myself in the mirror, I saw that the porcelain skin of my face had several divots and hinges in the neck. I began moving my head and saw that those were there to allow full range of movement for my head and neck. I raised my left hand and wiggled my fingers and rotated my wrist. There was a soft whirring sound coming from the moving limb. I wonder if under the glove I had the same type of hinges in my digits. I blinked, which startled me. I hadn¡¯t even noticed that until that moment that I hadn¡¯t been blinking at all. But having it happen then and there reminded me that, yes, normal folk should be blinking. But this doll body my poor wretched soul had found itself in was definitely not normal. So blinking was weird. I looked at my reflection and forced myself to blink again. There. Eyelids were hidden underneath the openings for my eyes and flicked downwards whenever I wanted to blink. They were made of the same ceramic as the face, and had delicate bristles at the end to simulate eyelashes. Simulate. Yes, that was the winning word for this puzzle. This body, and the rest of the maids, were just some attempt by a Hero of Alexandria-type tinkerer to make machines look like living people. The hair, the outfit, even the blinking weren¡¯t necessary for these machines to do their jobs. But whoever made us wanted us to look and behave like human beings. Why, though? Why not just hire some gals in town to be maids? It¡¯d be much less troublesome than making your own, hell of a lot less expensive, too. But I guess maybe that was why: to show off. To show the world at large that they were so rich that they didn¡¯t need to hire simple human folk to be a scullery maid. To show their friends and rivals that they had the influence to have people actually made in order to fulfill simple jobs around the house. Seriously, rich folk pissed me off. Wasting all this money and resources for something so stupid. Even in Hell you couldn¡¯t escape them, though to be honest it made sense that there would be rich people in Hell, and plenty of them. I may have been a mangy thief and cold-blooded killer, but the real crooks were living in mansions over in Washington. The door slamming open caught me by surprise, and I instinctively bent low and reached for my gun. Of course, I was currently in a skirt and thus unarmed. I must have looked a fool to anyone who was watching. ¡°Omega Zero Three!¡± shouted the skinny, greasy-looking man who had just entered the room. ¡°What are you doing?¡± The guy was dressed in a fancy suit that screamed ¡°BUTLER.¡± I knew the type, since my family had employed a bunch of them. Thankfully, my family had some taste and would never have hired on this mulch head; he looked way too slippery and disreputable to be put in charge of an entire household staff. My opinion of the owners of this place just kept getting lower by the second. I stood up straight and clasped my delicate looking hands in front of me in what I hoped looked like a relaxed pose. It¡¯s been decades since I¡¯d seen maids interact with butlers so I was hoping I was remembering the behavior correctly. ¡°Hello,¡± I said to him. The voice that came out of my mouth was¡­ wrong. Just wrong. It sounded female, sure, but that was to be expected. What I didn¡¯t like was that it sounded smooth; elegant. Like some uptight, classy broad that was way too much trouble to deal with. In other words, I sounded exactly like my mother. Heaven help me. ¡°Don¡¯t ¡®hello¡¯ me, you stupid piece of junk!¡± the rat-faced butler snarled. ¡°I asked you a question! Why are you here and not with the other maids in section Omega?¡± I let out a blink before saying, ¡°I dunno, suh.¡± I decided that this current situation called on me to channel the behavior of my family¡¯s old negro manservant, Lionel. Lionel was a smart bastard (he helped my father with balancing the numbers for his business) but he always acted like a fool whenever the butlers or my mother tried to order him around. He¡¯d behave like one of the field slaves, putting on a far-away look on his face, and always answered the questions presented to him in as simple a manner as possible. This got him out of a lot of grimm manual work that he was not supposed to do in the first place (he was my father¡¯s personal servant and was too valued for his intellect to have him work at anything else) and saved him the drama of disobeying the mistress of the house or problems with any of the butler¡¯s orders. ¡°What do you mean you don¡¯t know?¡± ¡°I dunno, suh.¡± ¡°Good gods, I do not need this right now,¡± the butler muttered to himself as he rubbed his aching temples. ¡°Just my bloody luck! The Duke himself is coming to this event, and now I have one malfunctioning auto on such an important day! Oh, this is all going to give me heartburn, I¡¯m sure!¡± Duke? The guy sounded important. Maybe Satan himself was visiting this place. If that was the case, then there was no way in hell I was going to remain here. ¡°Fine, whatever,¡± the butler sighed. ¡°Just head on over to Omega section post haste!¡± ¡°Yes suh,¡± I muttered, stepping forwards and heading towards the door. ¡°Wait,¡± the man¡¯s arm reached out to me as I was passing and grabbed me by the chin. It took all my willpower to calm my rage and not break his arm. Back when I was alive and, well, me, nobody would have dared touch me like this. Well, nobody who wanted to continue on living at any rate. ¡°Your optics,¡± the butler said as he lifted my chin higher so he could look into my eyes. ¡°Why are they blue?¡± ¡°I dunno, suh,¡± I said once again. Optics? As in optical? Did he mean my eyes? Why didn¡¯t he just say eyes in the first place? Pompous little prick. ¡°Have them checked out by the artificer,¡± he told me as he let my chin go. ¡°We can¡¯t have you not matching the other girls on such a momentous night.¡± What the hell was an artificer? ¡°Yes, suh.¡± ¡°Oh, and one other thing.¡± This time the oily creep reached down and grabbed my bottom through my skirt. My entire porcelain shell shivered in disgust as I felt his clammy fingers groping me. ¡°You will report to my quarters after the event. I am in need of stress relief and you will be the one to provide it.¡± This time I didn¡¯t bother to hold back my ire. With my left hand, I reached back for the offending hand, then grasped it while squeezing with all my might. I heard a crack and a squeal of pain from the butler as his fingers broke. I then pulled back my right and socked him in the face. My ceramic hands, though dainty and frail looking, were obviously much sturdier than they looked since my fist managed to break his nose and knock out two teeth. The rat-faced butler screamed, blood spurting from his ruined nose. I then lashed out with a left hook and smashed him in the chin. The thin man crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut, knocked out and down for the count. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I don¡¯t kill you, you piece of shit,¡± I told the unconscious man. I idly noted with irritation that my once pristine white gloves now had blood stains on them. Shaking my head in disgust, I turned away from the broken butler and made my way out or the room. Let¡¯s go see what the rest of Hell looked like. Heaven Heaven If there was one word to describe the scenery that met my eyes when I exited the room, it would be opulent. My mother loved throwing that word around, using it mostly to describe herself and the gigantic home she kept. It was all bullshit though; not only did my mother not have anything to do with the running of the manor (She pawned off such responsibilities to the house slaves, and the summit of her involvement in said activities was the ordering of one of them whipped if any part of her home was not to her liking.) but the decor she chose was the height of tackiness. Sure the furniture, paintings, and draperies she spent my father¡¯s money on was expensive, but truthfully all of them were as gaudy and tasteless as she was. During the various soirez and get-togethers my mother had at our home, the guests, whenever they were out of earshot of my parents, would always laugh and joke about my mother¡¯s vulgar taste in decoration. The only people mother¡¯s awful attempts at refinement managed to fool were the slaves, and that was because their own living conditions were spartan at best. But the hallway outside I was currently standing in was truly the essence of the word opulence. Marble floors, intricate wooden panels covering the walls, royal red curtains and drapes framing elegant metal-laced windows; It was all so tasteful and elegant, two things that my bitch of a mother sorely lacked. What most surprised me though was the bright, golden sunlight that was shining through the windows. I couldn¡¯t believe what I was seeing; surely Hell wouldn¡¯t have the sun shining down upon it? I moved towards one open window nearby, the heels of my ankle-length boots clicking upon the marble floor. Once I reached the window and looked out, I was struck dumb. If I was still breathing, then I would definitely have said that the scenery took my breath away. Bright blue skies. Towering columns of ivory clouds. The golden sunlight bathing everything in sight. And that was only the sky. The building that I was in was only a small part of the main grounds. I may have been born and grew up in a mansion, but my old ancestral home might as well have been a hovel compared to this place. It was truly palatial. From the window I could see that I was located on the fifth of sixth floor of some magnificent manor home located in a truly expansive estate. The gardens below me had flowers of every color, and the lawns were so flat and carefully maintained it almost seemed unreal. In the distance I could see a paved road of pure white, upon which the curious sight of numerous horseless carriages rode. They were mostly black and shining steel, looking most dignified and official. They were headed to what looked to be the main entrance to the manor, which was a set of gigantic doors guarded by numerous men in white staff jackets and dark trousers. But the most awe-inspiring sight was the other carriages. They were similar to those on the ground, but these flew magically through the air! There may have been hundreds of them, but they were so far away that the sky over the estate did not seem crowded at all. All of them flew in organized, linear formations, and it almost looked as if the carriages were riding atop invisible bridges several hundred feet in the air. I was wrong. So very, very wrong. This was not Hell. Not at all. Somehow, someway¡­ I had wound up in Heaven.
For the next few minutes I took my time staring in awe at all the beauty around me. If it wasn¡¯t for my mask-like face and its complete absence of expression, I¡¯m sure one of the many finely dressed men and women I passed would have called for someone to take the crazy person away. This place surely was a palace. The small but elegant hallway I had been in soon gave way to vast, stretching corridors that could fit ten carriages going both ways. But these enormous halls were purely for foot traffic. Rich red carpeting spread over the marble floors for the people to walk on while beautiful paintings lined the intricately patterned wood-lined walls. There were even what looked to be gas lanterns hanging from the ceiling, but their light was so bright that I knew the devices were powered by something other than oil. There were people all around me, dressed in finely tailored frock coat suits for the men while the women wore intricate, and in many cases very improper, gowns of various styles and colors. Throughout the crowd I was also able to spot several white jacketed men who looked to be stewards, as they often helped the various people with questions or need for directions. Closer inspection of these men showed that they too were automatons like myself, though these seemed to be of a more advanced variety. Unlike my porcelain skin and unmoving face, these doll men had shells made of gold-lined metal and their faces had moving parts which simulated human expressions. Their eyes were still the same as mine, though, with the same copper irises and silver sclera. The difference was that unlike mine and the other maid dolls, the stewards¡¯ pupils glowed with a dim, golden glow. I made sure not to make any sort of contact with them. Though the regular people in the halls were pretty much ignoring me for the most part, I didn¡¯t want to gain the attention of those doll men. They would probably know that something was up, since I didn¡¯t see any other maids around this part of the palace. The last thing I needed now was for one of them to escort me to wherever the rest of the omega dolls were. I really didn¡¯t have any sort of clue as to what I was going to be doing now that I had an eternity in Heaven to look forwards to, but being forced to do women¡¯s work forever was definitely not an activity I was interested in pursuing. What would be worse was that if I were somehow discovered to be a fake. If someone in authority found out that my soul or whatever was stuck in this doll, they would probably realize that I didn¡¯t belong here. They¡¯d probably send my ass quick as the pony express back to Hell where it was supposed to be. So, I blended into the crowd by not blending in. There was no way that I, in a maid outfit and a ceramic body, would ever not stand out in the collection of fancy rich jackasses that seemed to roam these hallways. Thus I did my best to remain at the edges of them, keeping my eyes down as I walked. The vast majority of people seemed to be going in one direction, most likely to see that Duke fellow if the butler I left bleeding in the closet was to be believed. There¡¯s no way I was going that way, so I shuffled along in the other direction doing my best not to bump into anyone or get noticed.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. ¡°Oh, Miss!¡± a cheerful voice called out. I turned my head in its direction, not really expecting me to be the target of the greeting. Of course my shit luck showed its ugly head again right there and then. Not twelve paces behind me was one of the doll man stewards. He was waving at me with the plates on his face arranged in such a way to convey the look of a friendly smile. Unlike the other stewards, this one wore a red jacket which most definitely marked him as someone important. I tried to hasten my steps in an effort to get away from him, but the crowd of rich folk traversing in the opposite direction caused me to go far too slowly. Eventually, the red-jacketed doll man caught up to me. ¡°Madame, thank goodness I was able to catch up to you,¡± the steward told me in a fancy British accented voice. ¡°I saw you headed away from the assembly that I was worried you might be lost. Good heavens, it would be simply awful if a Messenger were to wind up missing!¡± ¡°I think you¡¯re confused,¡± I told him simply. I wasn¡¯t really listening to the guy fully since I was mentally debating with myself whether to run or not. I didn¡¯t like my chances of getting away, especially with all the white jackets around. The steward only laughed. ¡°Oh, my dear lady, you have no idea. I am always being told, ¡®Aleph Eleven, why are you always so confused?¡¯ ¡®You overthink things too much, Aleph Eleven. Lighten up!¡¯ Hah! I swear I would have been sent to the scrap pile by now if I weren¡¯t so good at my duties.¡± The doll man blinked and his face twisted into something almost approaching worry. ¡°Speaking of which, are you perhaps lost? All Messengers were supposed to at the gathering by now. I¡¯m sure your party has missed you.¡± ¡°Messenger?¡± I asked. Though I was curious, I also asked in order to buy more time until I thought of a way to give this mechanical idiot the slip. ¡°Oh, why, of course! Messengers! You and your esteemed cohorts, my lady. Those chosen by the Source to defend the world from harm.¡± The steward, whose name was apparently Aleph Eleven, told me with confident cheer. ¡°I must say, I am quite surprised to see a fellow Automaton as a Messenger. Why, I didn¡¯t even know our kind could become Messengers! Oh, it fills my core with pride!¡± So, apparently Messengers are some type of organization, it¡¯s members chosen by this Source (God?) to be the lawmen of this land? And I was one of them? How? Why? Jesus Christ, Heaven was a complicated place. ¡°Like I said earlier, friend. You¡¯re mistaken,¡± I flatly told the automaton. I had considered faking it and playing the part of these Messengers, but I hardly knew anything about them. A good con worked only if you had the right amount of info on your side. It didn¡¯t matter if you were the best liar in the world; if you didn¡¯t know jack shit about who you were pretending to be you¡¯d be found out might quick. ¡°I am no Messenger. I¡¯m just a simple maid.¡± Aleph harumphed. Yes, he actually harumphed. ¡°I beg to differ, madame. After all, look at your nameplate.¡± He then pointed at something over my head. Looking up, I was shocked to see that there were floating symbols above my head. Where the hell did those come from?! They weren¡¯t in my reflection in the mirror when I woke up. And why didn¡¯t that pervert butler not say anything about it? ¦¸ 03 Level 23 ¡°Wh-what exactly is that?¡± I asked, too shocked and irritated to even think of pretending not to see the floating numbers. ¡°Why, it¡¯s your nameplate. It¡¯s what marks you as a Messenger.¡± Aleph blinked, his face converting from a smile into a confused expression. ¡°I say, you certainly do seem to be befuddled, if you don¡¯t mind me saying so. Are you perhaps, oh what was the word Messengers usually used? Um¡­ ah, yes. Are you perhaps a newb?¡± If I could frown, I would have. Did this asshole just insult me? I had no idea what a newb was, but it didn¡¯t sound flattering. It also sounded too much like rewb for my liking. ¡°Suppose I was?¡± I asked, irritation evident in my voice. ¡°What then?¡± Aleph laughed, his face sliding back into the too-wide smile. ¡°Oh, well that would explain everything! Though it is rather strange that you would be here in the Capital Hall and not at one of the tutorial areas. Hmm. If you¡¯ll come with me, I can get you to someone who can help you.¡± Oh hell no. If they found out I wasn¡¯t who they thought I was, I¡¯d be sent to Hell for sure. I needed to lose this creepy smiling doll man somehow. ¡°No thanks. I can find my own way,¡± I told him bluntly. ¡°Oh, it isn¡¯t a bother!¡± Aleph said with a laugh. ¡°I pride myself on helping others! Please, come this way.¡± His right hand came up to grasp my left arm. I attempted to pull away from him, but his grip would not budge; not even when I tried to yank out my arm with all my might. Either he was incredibly strong or I was retardedly weak. I would put money on the latter being the case, with me being in a woman¡¯s body and all. ¡°Aleph Eleven!¡± came a gruff voice from our left. I turned to see a grim looking man (Not another automaton, thank God.) walking towards us. He was wearing the same butler¡¯s suit as the man I had knocked out earlier. ¡°What are you doing with that maid? You should be escorting the Illayan ambassador¡¯s party to the gathering.¡± The steward removed its grip from me as he took a lavish bow. ¡°Head Butler Yosseff, I was merely helping this lost Messenger to get back to the training grounds.¡± The butler ignored me, his angry stare focusing completely on Aleph. ¡°What the hell are you talking about. That¡¯s a damned Auto, not a Messenger. Are you faulty?¡± I took that as my que to get away. Silently but with a quick pace, I made my exit and pushed myself through the mass of streaming patrons. As I slipped away, I continued to hear Aleph¡¯s inanely cheerful voice through the din of the crowd. ¡°Oh, but you are mistaken, Head Butler. She truly is a Messenger. I detected her nameplate and¡­ oh dear. Wherever did she go?¡± ¡°That¡¯s enough, Aleph Eleven. Get back to your duties this instant.¡± ¡°B-but¡­¡± ¡°Now.¡± That was all I heard as I moved further away from them. I quickly slipped my way into a large congregation of what looked to be monks who had just been passing by. Using them for cover, I was able to maneuver myself well away from the annoying attendant. Hopefully I won¡¯t run into any more unexpected company. I just got to Heaven, after all. It would¡¯ve been quite the shame to leave so quickly, at least before getting to see all the sights.