Chapter 10—Aftertalk

...jeansilverneckman! No, that was a bad name again. Bad! Marster wouldn’t let him keep it. Day in and day out, he racked his brains until it hurt, but nothing he thought of satisfied both him and Marster. Oh well. He had to worry about 'new human' now. The feeble girl lay in his arms, just like Nyle had taught him. He’d called it a ‘princess-carry’, or something else hard to pronounce. Marster said he was getting better at saying things, but he didn’t feel like he really was.

He frowned under the dumb helmet that made his ears hurt. Since he couldn’t take it off, he’d thought to just cut his ears off instead, but Marster said that was a bad idea. Why? He always had to hide them and he didn’t even need them to be long. It would also make him look more like a human if they were shorter. Yes, they didn’t have long, pointy ears. It made him hate his own. But if Marster said no, no it would be.

When he walked out of the factory, he saw Marster tapping his finger on his crossed arms, watching him. Marster came! He scurried towards him, forgetting about 'new human' until she grunted in her sleep. Oh, he realized, careful. Humans frail, never, never, never forget.

“...Did you forget anything?”

He felt a shudder when Marster’s voice sounded angry. He did wrong? What? He wanted to ask, to know, quickly, but it wasn’t his turn to speak. Difficult. Talking was so difficult. He had to answer, so he shook his head wildly. Crush necklace, get chips! He remembered. Always crush necklaces (or was it chips?). Marster looked unhappy as he grabbed the necklace around his neck. There was a moment of silence before Marster left for the factory, but when Marster came back he was praised. He did good! He didn’t forget!

“Why did you help her?”

A question! Marster rarely asked, only answered! That made him happy, but he couldn’t forget about 'new human' in his arms. She didn’t look good. She was nice, but not good. Careful.

“'New human' is in my debt now!” He said the same words as Marster; the ones he’d learned only recently. Debt. What a great word! He could ask anything of 'new human'. Anything!

“...Am I being a bad role model?” Marster mumbled, which meant he shouldn’t answer. His ears picked up things humans couldn’t, and he was taught to pretend otherwise.

In the end, there came no punishment. That made Marster different from Master. They both left, walking back home, and he wondered, was It his turn to ask now? He looked up, meeting Marster’s eyes. No more anger. He could ask.

“I do not understand,” he said. “Why watch when you want to help? Why wait if you help, anyway?”

Uh oh. Marster was angry again, and when angry, Marster didn’t answer questions, so they went the rest of the way back home in silence.

Marster said a lot of things, and sometimes nothing. He didn’t understand. He rarely did, so Marster told him to always ask questions, but sometimes, when Marster got angry, there was no answer. Or sad. Those questions had no answers too. He learned to not ask sad and angry questions. It was hard to tell them apart, and sometimes he failed, but he didn’t like them if they made Marster like that. They were bad questions. Because Marster was nice.

Ask questions, but don’t ask questions. It was a difficult difference. Questions, answers, talking, thinking, it was all so, so difficult. But that made it so interesting to learn. He wanted to learn, and learn, and learn much, much more. He knew it was necessary. And then, one day, Marster would fulfill his wish—to make him human, as he’d promised.

When Jeanne woke up, she thought her head had split in two. The throbbing pain banged louder than her thoughts, and the aching in her limbs tied her down to the ground. Or the chair, she’d realized. One of her hands struggled towards her waist, trying to get a potion, when it was grabbed by a firm hand.

“No more of these for a while. Time to wean you off.”

Marco. It was his chair. Her memories were a haze. Why was she at his place? Did he...?

“I didn’t help you.” He pointed to his side. “He did.” The sight of the knight lifted some of the fog from her mind. It hadn't been a dream.

“Thanks...” She tried to remember his name, but it eluded her.

“He doesn’t have a name.” Marco dug up more of her memories. Right, she’d never even asked for it. But did he just say he didn’t have one?

“This is an incredible thing.” All thoughts and questions about why he’d changed his mind about helping her went out of the window once she saw the necklace in his hands. “Almost as incredible as him not forgetting to crush all of their chips.”

She reached for it, ignoring the pain shooting through her arm, but Marco pulled it away from her.

“Not so fast. You will remember our deal.” She nodded as much as she could. “He rescued you. Which means you’re in his debt now, too. You wouldn’t be here, much less have this necklace back if it wasn’t for him. Understand?”

She nodded again. Anything. I don’t care, just give it back. When Marco actually returned it to her hands, she couldn’t believe it. She thought he would add more unreasonable demands. Something ridiculous she would have agreed to regardless, now that it was dangling in front of her.

Nightstalker's Silver Necklace recovered.

Enchantment: Scroll of the Nightstalker

Grade: Rare

Durability: 53/75

Stealth +11

Dexterity +4

Agility +3

The notification looked surreal. She stared at the necklace in her hand through budding tears, holding onto it as she felt her exhaustion overwhelm her.

I got it back, Mary. I will never let go of it again, I promise.

“Marster says, sky is blue at day. Black at night. Nyle says, always changing. Grey. Red. Yellow. Is it true? Does it change colors all the time?”

Pain wrecked her body, but Jeanne’s mood had been great ever since she got her necklace back. That was until he came around. She was still bedridden, dressed in bandages and barely able to move; but after two days Marco allowed the little bugger to let all hell loose.

She'd wondered what she’d have to do since the goblin (it was still hard to believe her eyes) claimed to, and she quoted, ‘have her in her debt, so he could do anything with her.’ Marco had revealed their secret since she’d already seen him in action. If she ever thought about reneging on their deal, or disclosing information about the goblin, the entirety of Junkyard would know about her necklace and its current, guildless owner. The guy was a dick, but it was strangely comforting that he acted like she’d expect him to.

“Uhhm... I guess?” She said for what had to be the hundredth time, and each time it made her feel more stupid. “Wouldn’t it be the same as here?”

The goblin left her at a loss yet again, bombarding her with questions, and about the Overworld no less. She called him Gob in her mind, after asking Marco why he didn’t just name the little guy himself. By all means, be my guest, he’d said and then left them, explaining nothing at all. She wondered what the catch was, but she wouldn't try and find it out. His grin was foreboding enough.

“No.” The little green guy shook his head, who sat across from her. He’d taken off his armor, revealing arms thinner than her own, but she knew they contained more strength than they let on.

“Marster says it’s different. He can’t explain it with words. Can you?” His eyes were made of expectation ever since their first exchange of words. It stung her everytime she had to shake her head. He looked downtrodden every time. She’d told him to ask her something else, but he returned with more questions about the outside world than she knew what to do with.

“Can I ask something, instead?” Thankfully, Gob didn’t seem to mind with the way he was nodding.

“Do all goblin’s talk?”

He shook his head. “Master and Marster say I’m special.”

“How long have you known Marco? What do you know about him?”

Gob counted on his fingers. “Seven...Eight...months? Eight! Marster is Marster. He found me and helped me. Marster is nice. Oh, but you’re nice too!”

“Thanks...” She patted his head, which he seemed to enjoy a lot. “But can you tell me anything else about him? Where is he from? Or what’s his deal?”

“...deal? Deeeaaal... Ah! He deals with something that can pewpew, and shouts loudly... It’s noisy and hurts my ears, and...” Gob looked to the ceiling in thought, making her wait on the edge of her seat. She pondered about the right words to use when they both noticed Marco standing in the doorway.

“You’ve been eavesdropping?” She turned to him unabashedly.

“For a while now.” He walked into the room and looked at her a little differently than usual. “I’m probably mistaken, but are you... a junkrat?”

“You didn't know?” She crossed her arms. “I thought you were snooping around about me.”

“I know that you’ve been active for a little over three years.” He didn’t seem bothered by the fact that she’d noticed him looking into her. An old acquaintance had tipped her off, but she'd been too distressed about her necklace to think about it. “And that you’re a reckless idiot. That’s all. The latter suits a junkrat, but still... I would have never thought that you were born here. That is a lot of rare items you have, and not too many junkrats have a chip.”

“Is that a problem for you?” She gave him a sweet smile, paired with a wink that hurt her swollen eyes. “Too bad. Guess you’ll have to lay me off, boss. It’s been nice working for you.”

“Nice try, but no, it doesn’t matter. I just didn’t expect it. It’s not everyday you see a half-successful junkrat around here.”

He smiles, but it’s different. It seems he doesn’t like what he didn't expect. Jeanne kept the thought to herself, intrigued by what he’d said.

“The way you put, what about you? You make it sound like you aren’t one.”

“I’m not.” Her eyelids stung as they widened. “I’m from the Overworld. Tegare II, to be exact... which probably doesn’t tell you anything, I realize. It’s a district in Crescenda. Even you’ve heard of the megacity, right? Think of it like the districts you know in Junkyard just... cleaner.”

Marco didn't hesitate pulling his shirt up, revealing a brand mark etched on the left side of his chest. It looked like a miniature city of towers, turned upside down. Holy shit... She’d never seen the mark before, only heard of it. But the city engraved into his flesh was too detailed to be faked down here. Not that anyone would ever dream of doing such a thing. He wasn’t lying.

“But... But you don’t... look like a sunrat.”

He bursted out laughing without holding back, and she felt her cheeks flush with warmth. She didn’t know what was wrong about what she'd said, and that made it worse. It wasn’t her fault that everyone from the Overworld took any information about it to their graves.

“Just because there’s a sun that doesn’t mean a tan marks you as someone from the Overworld.” He caught his breath again after what she thought took way too long. “I've heard of the term before but I thought it was a joke or something else I didn’t get. They were serious?”

“...We do use it to make fun of the people who brag about going on Expeditions.” She cast her face down, trying to hide it as she defended herself.

“I’ve been wondering just how many potions you’ve been drinking to make your skin take on such a pale color, but it turns out the answer was much simpler." He shook his head when the air about him changed. "Enough about that.”

He came closer, sitting down in front of her, and stared her right in the eyes. Her surprise mixed in with a tinge of fear when he looked at her like that, and she realized she’d never seen him not smiling before. He looked like a different person.

“What were you thinking?”

“I don’t understand.” She backed away a little on her seat.

“I don’t care if you’re a junkrat. You would have died if not for his little whims.” He pointed at Gob, who looked like he wanted to say something, but Marco hushed him with a glare.

“Didn’t you send him?”

“No, I didn’t.” His voice was strained and his hands grasped his legs more tensely. His gaze was so intense, she kept avoiding his eyes, but they drew her back in as they sent her thoughts reeling. “That’s what I want to make crystal clear. I. Did not. Send him. And I told you I wouldn’t help. So, care to explain why you'd fight a losing battle?”

“It’s important to me...” she answered as if chastised, but a sense of wrongness began kindling within her.

“The necklace?” She barely nodded. “Idiotic! Is it worth more than your life? More than becoming a chipless slave stuck in a factory?” She nodded again, and he jumped to his feet, grasping her at the shoulder with both hands.

"You...!"

“I-It hurts..." She tried to free herself, but she was as helpless as a chipless while he tightened his grip on her as if he wanted to rip her arms off. "Let... go...”

He finally loosened his hands, but she could still feel the imprints of him clawing away at her.

“Shit.” She caught his whisper as he turned away, kicking over a pile of junk.

“W-What...?” She clasped her arms, further backing away from him in her seat. But the wrongness she felt flared up, fueling her thoughts and speech. So what if she'd done what she did. Who was he to chastise her? “D-Don’t you want to go back?”

She hated herself for stumbling over her words but his actions had left her in shivers. The unexpectedness. Her being left helpless because of her injuries. All of it. And the way he'd said it. The feeling of wrongness flared up, taking over every fiber of her as shock turned to anger.

“Back to the Overworld, you know? Because I want to leave.”

She took his silence as an answer. “Then, you should know. Or do you not? You’ll need to risk some things. That’s normal! Even if the necklace wasn’t important to me, it is an indispensable item to get me there. Of course, I’d fight to get it back!”

The thought of being stuck in a factory left her trembling like any other. She knew how close she’d come the other day. A place so far at the bottom, there was no way up anymore. She’d signed up for that risk a long time ago, knowing that might be her end. Yet, here he was, reprimanding her. He dared treat her like this, accusing her as if she’d done something wrong. Then it dawned on her. He was doing exactly that. Don’t make me laugh.

“What choices do you think I have?” Gob pulled down his ears when she raised her voice. “Is that something you could understand, Overworlder? What level are you, huh? Five? Ten?”

“...I know you have to act.” His voice was quiet and calm as he leaned against the doorframe with his back to her, any signs of his outburst gone. “But you have to think first. Plan, and be patient.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.” She barely heard him. It was like he wasn’t even addressing her. Why did he care about her, anyway? The deal, right. He couldn’t lose his new slave after investing so much into her.

“Don’t rush in blindly.” He continued with increasing conviction in his voice. “Let go of things you can’t keep, no matter how important or valuable you think they are. Never think yourself special. Everyone believes they can pull some stunt through situtations of certain death.”

He paused, letting the words linger in the ensuing silence.

“And worst of all,” he turned to her, his gaze as intense as ever, but there was something soft within his eyes. No, not soft. Pity. She almost spat at him. “All their illusions start like yours by overcoming something they shouldn’t have. By a stupid decision gone right.”

She remained silent, offering no answer to his lecture. I would do it again. The words almost left her lips. He could never understand just how important something could be if you had so little.

“Jeanne Teller. Two days ago, you should have died. That’s where your decision led you to. Don’t you ever think otherwise.”

She knew that, but her mouth moved before her mind, defending her way of life.

“If you don’t take risks, you’ll never make any progress.” She shouted after him as he left her. “Wait! If you want to leave, does that mean you’ll enter the competition?”

No answer. She asked Gob to leave her alone for a while so she could get some rest, but her thoughts didn’t let her. She traced her hand over the spot where he’d grabbed her and she could still feel the echo of his fingers. Marco was from the Overworld... She didn’t get the chance to ask why he was thrown down here because he started acting so weird. Probably a bad idea anyway. It seemed to be a taboo topic from what she’d heard from other people.

Made sense. She doubted many people would want to talk about their past crimes.