Crossover With Non-anime Series Fan Fiction ❯ Bane Sidhe ❯ Imoutos: What Have You Done? ( Chapter 7 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

ONE

 

In another life I was an Irish food stall cook in a ridiculous world filled with psychotics who bent reality, on purpose, in order to have psychic powers. The powers were really just an abused spell twisted into something like various superheroes might have, only without the moral center or ethical life lessons. The city had lots of problems, including social and financial pressures on success and failure, and a very deliberate blind eye over violence committed by the various lab rats. So not a great place, even if it was very clean and very high tech. I made several powerful people angry so they murdered me at a train station.

Now I’m a ghost. And, according to Murphy, my new boss because I’m Irish and wasn’t good enough for heaven (blame my murder of some really evil mass murderers at the starts of their 10,000 plus sprees), I’ve been tasked with correcting some things. I’ve been brought, as a ghost, back to Academy City and my job is disrupting the ongoing evil. Oh, and I was a half-faery changeling, but they were too dumb to know that and I was too smart to tell anyone. So now I’m a changeling’s ghost working for Satan to commit acts of good? It sounds ridiculous.

The easiest target was one of the Networked Sisters. I’d literally saved them from mass murder and damned myself on their behalf.

“Can I borrow your body, Misaka-san?” I asked inside her head. Network communication ramped up and the whole story came out in a few tenths of a second. The network considered this for a considerable time before relenting.

“Very well. This one requests you not do anything perverted with it, and not get killed by Accellerator.”

“I’ll try to keep things clean. You’re under age. I will want to have some conversations, as information needs to be shared and is the most effective weapon for my goals.”

I forwarded some info to Last Order.

“Nii-san, the Misaka Network says that the man who saved you from the assassin when Misaka was sick with the computer virus has a ghost, and wants to tell you some things you will want to know. Will you promise not to hurt her?”

“Her? The guy who shot the assassin was the food cart guy. He’s not a she.”

“He died. He’s possessing Misaka-11112, with her permission and support of the network. The network is still afraid of you. They have memories of you killing 10,109 of them.”

“Fine. I won’t hurt her. No trying to kill me. Hitting back is reflex.”

 

I arrived with the assurances that Accellerator wasn’t going to hurt the sister I was riding in. On? Through? Possession is weird. Voluntary possession is weirder.

"Hello. I just wanted to say thanks for looking after little Misaka. I see you found alternate accomadation rather than stay in the same building as Touma."

"Uh... who are you?" he asked.

"Ah, I'm the food cart guy you met the day your apartment got trashed. I'm a ghost, and this Sister was willing to let me talk through her. I'm kind of possessing her, but it is voluntary. I wanted to clear up some lingering issues. Is this the apartment of the hot PE teacher?" I asked.

"Uh. Well, I suppose. She is a PE teacher at a high school on the edge of the city." Accellerator looked very uncomfortable at this description.

"Lucky you," I commented. "Who does the cooking?"

"None of us are very good at it, so Misaka gets delivery," he admitted.

"Hmm. That can't be very healthy over the long term. You should learn how to cook. I'm not really here to do it for you."

“Is that all?” Accellerator asked, sounding wretched.

"I should also mention that I now know that Heaven and Hell are both real, and murder is a sin. The Sisters were human beings so you've committed mass murder in the eyes of God. And God also exists, along with angels. You need to do a lot of good deeds as pennance for your crimes."

"Really? All of that?" he asked, shocked.

“That’s all for now. You deserved to know. See you around,” I used the Misaka’s hand to wave the way I used to when he visited my food cart. Then we left.

I directed us to a tram line and boarded it, crossing to the apartment complex near Kamijou’s place, and then entered a nearby grocery market. It wasn’t huge, and the prices were well above my usual wholesale, but I bought ingredients and loaded down we went to his building and climbed to the top floor where he lived. The door was banged up and badly repaired and there were signs of filled in bullet holes and other damage. We pushed the button to ring the bell but it failed to do anything. So we knocked.

“Ah! Biribiri! What are you doing here?” Touma exclaimed. His hair was remarkably spiky, having grown out even further and he actually looked a little younger at the moment. He’s only 16. It is easy to forget that when he’s out saving the city from destruction, but he’s still a teenager. Beyond him, I saw the safety pinned garments of his common-law nun wife, Index Librorum Prohibitorum, or Index for short.

“Nee-san is busy at Tokiwadai dorms this evening,” I corrected him.

“Uhh… so you’re one of the sisters?” he asked, now seeming confused.

“Yes, I just visited Accellerator. It seems he hurt you when his power manifested as a boy and he’s felt so guilty over it he got talked into a plot to commit mass murder on all my sisters. Thank you for saving us. Also. I am currently under Voluntary Possession by the ghost of your favorite cook and he’s come to cook you a hearty meal, though the Library might just gobble up more than her share. This will not require the abuse of your bad luck powers so you might be able to eat a proper meal.”

Index did not like the word “possession” so lunged at me while waving her rosary to ward off evil. This would work if only Murphy, aka Satan, Lucifer, The Morning Star, wasn’t a devout Christian. Because of course he was. Why else would the Popes always be mad as a box of spoons? Really, it made perfect sense.

“I said Voluntary,” I repeated. Index waved the rosary more frantically until her arm got tired after about a minute and then she stopped and pouted. And then her expression brightened.

“Food?” she asked. I nodded.

The two lunatics in the tiny student apartment backed up, letting me in the door. I put myself in front of the stove and shut the door so I could actually use the kitchen. I removed shoes, washed hands, cleaned the surfaces and sharpened his rather pathetic knives. They had led very hard lives. Dropped more than a few times.

“How are you here, Shaun?” asked Touma after working up the nerve for several minutes.

“Eh, Murphy ordered me to pay penance and screw up the evil in this town. The head villain is vying to replace God and the Devil, both, and that’s the sort of hubris that requires intervention. Remember your folks vacation down at Goto Island? The goth chick was an archangel. A real one. Like from the Old Testament. Things would have been very bad for you and your family if I hadn’t broken into your vacation home and moved a few ornaments around. Get your Dad a woodworking magazine so he gives up Feng Shui. He’s dangerously good at it. I mean that literally. Goto could have been a smoking crater, like Krakatoa if that setup was still working.”

“That’s a lot to take in. What are you cooking?” he asked, seeing me cut up veggies and place them in ingredient bowls. He had a large frying pan with a lid, thankfully. It hadn’t been used much because Touma is a bad cook, which is why he bought from my stand all those times.

“Thought I’d make stewed chicken. You need more protein if you plan to keep saving the city.”

“I rarely get home without dropping my groceries. Stuff like eggs get broken, milk spilled, tofu is spoiled. Even Biribiri has ruined my eggs when she’s having one of her fits.”

“Ah. Yeah. About Mikoto, we have to talk about her in particular. After we eat,” I explained. This will be an awkward conversation. She’s only 14, but it’s about the future and needs to be said.

“Serious talk?” asked the kid who looked all of his 16 years.

“Yes. Pretty serious. I realize you have all kinds of willing poontang throwing itself at you crotch first, but you’ll want to pay attention to this.”

“You don’t have to be crude. Also, that sounds really weird coming out of the mouth of the twin sister of the girl you’re taking about,” he complained.

“Clone, but yeah, close enough.” I smelled his cooking oil. Rancid. I tossed that into the trash can and looked for an alternative. No salad oil. Some rancid sesame oil. Trash again. Some canola oil, also rancid, and some fake olive oil that was mostly soybean oil. Not rancid but amazingly unhealthy for a growing boy. How unhealthy? Think heart attacks, obesity, and growing boobs. That is how bad soybean oil is.

“I suspect you don’t want to grow boobs so I’m tossing this bottle too,” I explained.

He winced. I queried the network with an idea. They affirmed it and I went back to cutting up veggies and meat, with a bit of soy sauce to marinate. A little plain, but they’d be here soon.

“Touma, you have a hard life. I think that’s God’s doing, but you’re also making the right choices. You can’t get groceries home, so the sisters are going to be shopping for you, on your behalf. They call you Our Savior, did you know that?”

He nodded uncomfortably.

“You’ve saved a lot of lives. A lot of lives. More than your PE Teacher, who is bad at her job. Really bad at her job. But you aren’t paid and she is.” The doorbell rang and I opened it without looking. Another sister stepped in, put down a bag of groceries, and stepped back out again. I thanked her mentally and she shut the door behind her.

I picked up the large olive oil jug and opened it, smelling the correct scent and poured a tablespoon into the frying pan, and then turned on the burner. This being academy city, it was electric rather than gas, but it worked and heated up the pan in a few minutes. The oil rolled and thinned on the pan surface and I began to add onions and after a couple minutes, peppers and the meat. Cover for a couple minutes, still making conversation with Touma and Index, who was salivating. Touma didn’t cook. Index ate like a glutton to provide magical energy as well as energy to store all those books. I was aware his mini fridge had died during one of Misaka’s EMP tantrums. He’d replaced it with a bigger one, but this was fortunate since it had more room for actual food.

“Touma, it is fairly obvious that your biggest problem is getting enough to eat. The luck is merely an obstacle to this, and your waifu Index…” and he sputtered over that statement.

“We’re not married!” he insisted.

“You’re Common Law. She sleeps in your bed. You’ve cohabited together for the last six months. That was Common Law after three months in this prefecture. And God hasn’t taken away your powers, so apparently he approves of you two as well.”

“God?” he demanded in confusion.

“Surely you didn’t think Index was alive out of mere luck and determination, or your Hand of God was anything but literal, right? I realize they teach you to be psychotic at these schools in this ridiculous city, but DUH! Remember the hot girl with the short pant leg and the long pant leg? She’s got a similar problem to you. She’s the Left Hand of God. You’re the Right, thus your right hand cancels magic and psychic power attacks. You have bad luck befall yourself, her bad luck falls on those around her. She feels super guilty about that, by the way. It’s made dating amazingly hard for her.”

“She… what?” he asked, looking to Index. She nodded affirmative.

“So I married a nun?” he finally said out loud. Index growled and bit him repeatedly, which is her standard response to him being dumb.

I plated up the food on three dishes and served it on his little table. This required setting aside the books, homework, pencils, nearly but not quite empty drinks glasses to the sink and wiping down the surface so we didn’t get sick from eating there. The green mold I found looked ready to vote. Lots of cleaning is required to keep Touma healthy to fight another day. The Network approved a cleaning crew.

“Since you’re married in common law, you may as well share your bed instead of sleeping in your bathtub. I noticed your neck hurts you for the last few months. Was that how you dealt with her arrival?” He nodded, then dug into the food, finally, with an Ita-daki-masu!

We all ate. Index filled her plate three more times before stopping. Good food with actual protein in it kept her a lot more reasonable.

“Now it is time to talk about Mikoto.”

“Who?”

“Biribiri has a name. It is Mikoto. She’s got a crush on you. And it’s not for the reason you think.”

He looked equal parts confused and dejected.  

“Imagine that your power is lightning,” I began, demonstrating between my hands using high voltage but low amps. The arcs danced around, not hurting me.

“Now imagine you learn that your emotions can give you more power and the more power you use the less emotional control you have, to the point where when you’re very excited and emotional you have very little control, and that this works on all your emotions, not just anger or determination. All your emotions. You have to buy replacement light bulbs every week because of those emotions, and it’s really embarrassing burning holes in your clothes, especially certain clothes. And you’re a fourteen year old girl who just met a guy who can absorb your full power lightning strike without damage.”

He looked confused. I sighed, then pointed down between Misaka’s legs.

“Down there. Excited, power control issues, might be fatal to a normal boy. List of safe responsible dates is VERY short. She can only date YOU, doofus. She worked that out the first time she met you, after the bridge incident.”

His jaw dropped open, then shut. He raised a finger to object, drew in a breath, eyes drifted in calculation, let it out again.

“You’re serious?” he confirmed.

“Any other guy who tried, even with the best of intentions, would die. As long as you’re touching her with your right hand, you’re safe and she isn’t heart broken by killing some guy she’s worked up the nerve to take their relationship to the next level. You’re literally her only dating choice.”

“But… she’s only fourteen.”

“She’ll be older day by day, until she’s old enough. You haven’t touched Index here yet, and she’s only 15. But someday she’ll be 16, and that’s legal in this prefecture. It isn’t like you need to be in a hurry. But you do need to understand. Misaka is after you for very good reasons. And her goal isn’t casual. She can’t afford to lose you. Try to forgive her temper and embarrassment, and don’t keep running away from her. That hurts her feelings. She doesn’t have to limit herself to arcade tokens. She can throw buses and rail cars with her ability. Scorning her would go very badly for the city. Take her on some more dates. Give her some good memories so when the right time comes she isn’t damaged by the experience. The world would have a hard time if a level 5’s love rejection turned her into a level 6 Fury.”

“Fury?” Touma asked, confused.

“Greek goddess of revenge. Famously dangerous. Like a berserker, only a woman,” I explained.

“What if I don’t want my Touma sleeping with Electric girl?” demanded Index petulantly.

“Cope. Her jealousy is just as dangerous as your John Pen mode, and she’s going to face jealously every month if she isn’t satisfied.” Mention of her defense system reminded her of the debt she owed Touma for his brain damage in saving her life. She pouted, thinking hard. Then she glared at me.

“You just want him for yourself,” she accused. My host opted to speak.

“This Misaka-11112 is grateful to the savior. This Misaka is not prepared for such activities, but the Misaka Network polling indicates willingness to try such things once sufficiently matured and correct hormonal balance achieved. The Network is prepared to share the experience and thus avoid overwhelming The Savior with too many partners, Misaka-11112 explains,” explained the sister’s voice. It is weird to feel her assert control and move herself when it’s mostly been me doing that for the last couple hours since I arrived here.  I stood up and started cleaning dishes and putting away leftovers into containers in his fridge.

“So all of you?” Touma finally said, after sitting quietly for a while.

“At the same time yes, Misaka-11112 confirms,” her voice answered. “This project can be delayed for the more immediate and eventual need to assist The Original once she has sufficiently matured for such activities. Polling suggests that certain power blackouts are a direct result,” she started to say but Touma held up a finger to halt further explanation.

“Ah, don’t explain any more. This conversation is making me uncomfortable,” he said. I poured him a cup of hot tea. And another for Index. A sister turned up, opening the door and a sequence of four of us placed shopping bags in his entryway floor, bowed politely, and withdrew. I bent and put things away. He was out of ketchup, of all things. And mustard. Index was probably the culprit there. I also put away fresh noodles, udon, and a large sack of white rice, 25 kg, so he’d always have some food to eat.

“The network has been correlating incidents of your bad luck versus incidents of your needing to use your power. The reason you feel cursed is often the bad luck precedes the need for the power, which suggests a sort of time travel prediction ability, similar to what I had when I was alive.”

“You mentioned that before. How did that work?” Touma asked me. Us. Whatever.

“I was born with precognition. It’s one of the primary powers of my… bloodline. That and perfect pitch so I could sing better than most people. If I’d accepted certain conditions my power would have been stronger and I wouldn’t have been shot at the station in Kyoto. I would have ducked.”

“Huh. Presumably the conditions were pretty dire if you didn’t want the power stronger,” he noted, jumping ahead.

“Yes, the cost would have been my soul, and a soul is what we are. A soul is the person seeing out through the eyes. The Sisters all have souls, which is why Accellerator is facing damnation for his actions,” I explained to the lad.

“You wave your hands around a lot more than the Sisters usually do. I hope the network is studying use of body language. This is much more personable,” he commented. Index blinked at this aside then agreed.

“Now that you’ve got a full fridge and the Sisters to get you groceries, see if you can pay attention while I teach you to cook. I can’t run my food cart anymore because people would notice that I look like Mikoto pretty quickly.”

“You could wear a mask?” suggested Index. I glared at her.

“No,” I refused. She humphed.

“I have plans to turn the sisters into a delivery service. The bikes are going to start construction soon.”

“Bikes? Won’t they get stolen?” he asked.

“Electric motorcycles. Automatic locking brakes and no battery, so only a Sister can operate it by powering the motor herself. Well, Mikoto could too. Put contact patches on the inside of the knee, and wear riding suits and helmets so the face isn’t visible. A quick courier service with minimal costs, and its staff can defend themselves. Some cosmetic changes to the bikes, maybe, to throw off attention and it’s a business. Deliver packages, food, whatever,” I suggested. The network approved of this plan.

“I could see it,” Touma admitted.

“It is time I head to one of the apartments. The Sisters are 38% of the building residents now. They’ve saved me a bunk bed. I am sleepy. I will see you for breakfast, 6:00 AM. Index: be gentle. No biting. You’re technically married now.” I bowed to the blushing couple and stepped out of their apartment. I looked at the blonde grinning spy, Tsuchimikado in his shades, staring back at me. The Network paid attention. After a long staring match he returned to his apartment without saying a word. I went two more doors down the hallway and the door opened for me. I found six of us inside, preparing for bed.

“One of us. One of us,” they chanted. I grinned, which Misaka-11112 found uncomfortable to do. None of them were used to their facial muscles or expressions. I would have to train them.