Crossover With Non-anime Series Fan Fiction ❯ Bane Sidhe ❯ Imoutos: All Apologies ( Chapter 8 )

Breakfast that morning had gone well. I’d arrived, letting myself in, and cooked for the couple, though smells indicated no hanky panky had occurred. This is for the best. Index was still under age for another year or so. They ate, readied for school, and Touma left. Index was introduced to computer technology and the internet, using a custom PC running a semi-secure OS with VPN to protect its origin. Those who knew about her knew where she was, but we don’t need other interlopers demanding this information and showing up to cause trouble, even if the building itself was basically a fortress of electromaster girls. Standards, am I right?

My journey to the Garden of Maidens had been trivial to accomplish wearing the Tokiwadai uniform and entering the dorm looking like one of their students. I was overriding the semi-robotic walk used by the Misaka sisters, who insist they are using efficient locomotion. I remind them that they are attempting to become attractive to The Savior, and will need to gain female persuasion skills, which includes mannerisms and body language, meaning a slower walk and a bit more swing to the hips. Not much yet, but in coming years it will matter. I remember their mother quite well, from just before my death, and she was a full figured woman, which implied this would also be the future of both the Original and the Sister once puberty finished in their twenties, possibly after having a child. Growing out to a D cup is likely with pregnancy hormones. It is the purpose of the organ, after all. The Network agreed with this projection and there was significant chatter back and forth. Vitamins and sufficient protein and fats to improve growth in those areas. A starvation diet of murder victim survivors would leave the sisters behind. Healthier eating would apply to themselves, not just The Savior and his common law wife.

“Oneesama? I thought you were in bed still,” called out Kuroko. I turned the shared body and greeted her.

“Hero girl. Give us a hug!” I called out and charged her arms open. She looked very confused and flicked two meters away, staring.

“Eh?” It was all she could manage. I managed to catch her the second time and hugged her and squeezed her.

“I’ll call you George!” I announced. The Network found this entire moment amusing and had hacked the surveillance video stream for later blackmail. And probably to share with Last Order and probably the Original too.

“Those pigtails are adorable. How come Sissy doesn’t just eat you up?” I teased her. “Well, besides being straight, I mean. But you know.”

“Who are you?” she finally managed to ask, after rebooting fully.

“I’m neesan’s older twin sister. She didn’t mention me, did she? Mikoto is such a naughty girl. So prim, so proper. No fun at all. Okasan said she never understood how her youngest could be so difficult. Accomplished, certainly, but so difficult. Fussy, even.” I did all this with wild animation and arm waving and plenty of body language I was mimicking from those hypersocial girls I’d seen around the city for the last five years.

“It’s a good thing this uniform fit. I had to strip off all my nail polish and go without makeup to pass through security here. Any idea where I can find the dorm supervisor? I need to talk to her privately.” The shell-shocked Kuroko led me to a door and excused herself, looking back twice to my grin before vanishing around a corner. I keyed the doorbell and explained myself once inside.

“What did you say?” demanded the extremely angry glasses-wearing dorm supervisor of Tokiwadai Middle School.  

“I was assassinated by someone from Academy City while at the train station in Kyoto. I can no longer date you since I am no longer a handsome Irish cook. I came to apologize and offer condolences and emotional support,” I repeated. I’d dated this woman, when I was alive, for the last few months. She was even more of an iron wall than before I’d met her. I think my death had hit her hard.

“Ah. That was my sister, actually. I never dated Shaun,” she denied. “I was trying to date the man running the Child Errors orphanage when he confessed to his partner there.” I sighed. This was the problem with identical twins. Very few people knew that twins ran the dorms at Tokiwadai.

“Ah, please forgive me. You are remarkably similar in appearance,” I apologized. “If I helps, I now know how it feels to be an identical twin.”

“Neesan’s been really torn up over this and I’ve had to cover her shifts, which means the shenanigans of these brats is getting on my nerves more than usual. Showing up looking like one of my key irritants is not helping my calm,” she reported, glaring down at me. Misaka Imoutos are clones of the original, and while our body language is not the same, for many reasons, we can be mistaken for her.

“I’ll escort you to her,” she finally decided.

A short walk passed a locked door and into a small apartment on the ground floor, covered in monitors displaying various hallways and alarm status boards, we eventually arrived at a massaging lounge chair and a fragile looking twin.

I repeated my apology. She looked over at me, without heat, and denied my identity.

“When I was alive I did things to prevent several tragedies, and God didn’t like that so I’ve been damned. This placed me in the hands of Murphy, who has made me his messenger and a ghost on the mortal plane. I am here to make amends for my life,” I explained differently.

“So you were dead, and now you’re alive? And a girl,” she misunderstood.

“No, I AM dead, I’m a ghost and possessing this girl, a clone of Misaka Mikoto, your student. Misaka knows about us.”

“Us?” she asked.

“There’s just under 10,000 of us. We’re all clones of Misaka. It was a tragedy created by the owner of Academy City for this evil experiment they were doing. It has been stopped, mostly by Misaka’s crush and with my help. This is also why I died. Cancelling the experiment made the owner angry, so he had me killed.”

“Murder?” she confirmed.

“Well, yes. I was shot by an assassin with a rifle. That’s not an accident,” I pointed out.

“It was a closed casket funeral and there were no details before the body was burned,” she countered.

“Ah… well. That makes sense. Easier to cover up. Not many victims of assassination can come back and hang around after their deaths,” I agreed. “Post mordem criminal accusations by the victim tends to make criminal prosecutors uncomfortable.”

“I see. So, you’re dead. Why are you here?” she asked. Many emotions were on her face. She reached for a tissue and wiped her eyes.

“I wanted you to know that I really did love you, and I am very sorry to leave you in this state. I liked your company and found you both cute and charming. Other men will see your charms if you let them.”

She sniffled some more. “Thank you Shaun. I need some time alone now. Would you mind leaving?” she requested. I let myself out.

I don’t think that went very well. The Misaka Network polled itself and agreed with me.

The Network found my inner thoughts very educational, however, and were creating a male-thought-modelling game theory for dealing with The Savior. Last Order chimed in with support for body language, though she enjoyed the Ojousan’s Laugh a bit much, using it to verbally torment Accelerator, who was her current guardian. He in turn was living in the apartment of the pretty PE Teacher from Touma’s school, the anti-skill woman who was bad at Anti-Skill but good at PE and being a foster parent.

I left the dorm supervisors’ apartment and headed for Mikoto’s room, finding her putting on her clothes. She stared at me, shocked, then irritated. I shut the door behind me while she finished dressing.

“What are you doing here? I told you I don’t want you interfering in my life at school,” Mikoto complained.

“Open yourself to the network. You don’t have time for the full explanation or you’ll miss breakfast,” I told her.

“Why aren’t you talking like them?” she asked, peering at me. I gestured impatiently. She let her eyes drift into the distance, staring at the wall and then winced as I felt the Misaka Network greet her. 9862 voices is a lot, even for a hard-working genius like Mikoto. I tease her to her friends, but she really is quite impressive as a person. She was a level two when she started, same as the Sisters. But she worked hard to become a Level 5. She winced at the noise and queried the network for the short version. She blinked, then looked at me.

“Shaun Davies ghost? Are you kidding me?” she asked in outraged Japanese. I winced, waiting for her to settle down. She expanded her query for more details and saw my murder photos, looking sick. It wasn’t any worse than what happened to the sisters over and over, and I have to admit being a ghost is better than roasting in Hell, if that’s even true. Murphy is bossy, but reasonable, all things considered. It comes from being a Devout Christian, and not the weird Amakusa branch that has all those hidden chapels in Gotoh Island, which was NOT a coincidence to the end of the world nearly happening there. They were devout, possibly a little TOO devout, but as a lapsed Catholic, as most real Irishmen were, I was more relieved to get a job from Satan than to burn for my sins. This was probably more difficult, but the worst, so to speak, had already happened. I’d died. The only way forward is up. At least I never joined Sinn Fein. Those guys were hugging trannies and pedophiles before the mob killed them all with stones and pitchfork. Never mock an Irishmen who can lay hands on a stone. The Palestinians are weenies. An Irishman can kill with a stone. It is a national sport. Several of them.

I noted she was paying attention then. I forwarded my memory of the talk with The Savior the prior evening. She watched it in high speed, but it took several minutes. She winced when it came to the lightning issue, and his expression of shock.

“You shouldn’t have told him that,” she growled, angry.

“You are too shy to explain, and there’s twenty five other women vying for his romantic attentions. You have to explain, and so I did it for you. He’s a nice boy. He means well, like a proper paladin should. He did what you have been trying to do for months now. And he did it in three days. And now if you can resist being conflicted Tsundere in his presence, you might be able to build a friendship with the only guy you can ever sleep with twice, and not kill.”

Mikoto cried then. I offered her a tissue and hugged her.

“I’m sorry you don’t have any choices here. He’s a good boy. You got lucky here. You might have been born at a different time, or been far apart in age, or lived on the other side of the world and spoken different languages. Instead you’re only two years apart and live in the same city and your parents already know and get along. Consent for early marriage is possible. In two years you’ll be legal and your sex drive won’t be knocking out the power grid anymore. You two can get a farm house with a hurricane lantern, and a wood stove. It will be romantic,” I suggested, imagining the scene for the network, who dutifully forwarded the image to her brain directly through the connection. She sniffled.

“Alright. Come on. Blow your nose. Wipe your eyes with a new tissue. Let’s get you down the stairs and some lunch in you. It’s too late for breakfast. You’re a growing girl,” I said, suiting action to my words and we were rapidly situated with some cafeteria trays of what was prepared for the Upper Class girls of Tokiwadai. It wasn’t bad, but bland might be the word? Bland. I always cooked better tasting stuff than this, but it was my job. These girls were meant to eat and get to class. The lunch crowd were cheerfully chatting together and I made sure to wave my hands while I talked and peal with laughter like any girl would. Again, mimicking what I’d seen.

I think she’ll come around. She kept the connection to the network open, at least. That was something. The access to the camera planted in The Savior’s classroom at his high school, and the one in his apartment where the little Nun was assembling a puzzle and eating chocolate pudding while the radio played both offered incentive. Kuroko arrived and sat by Mikoto asking about my cover story as the slightly older sister. Mikoto was a little put out about this, but relented, because it worked. I’d acted the part of the more social twin. I hugged them both at the end of lunch and left them to attend their classes, exiting through the main gates before the bell rang. Success. Satan would be pleased. Another tragedy averted.