Third tower.
Just two more, and they would be back in the city.
The raw wool of the scarf pressed tight, scratching Arnie's cheeks. His neck hurt too, since it was bearing a large part of Nero's weight.
After Nero had blocked a volley of death rays with a cloud of metallic rose petals—and that somehow did sound insane even in Arnie's own head—Arnie had mounted the sled and made a break for the city.
Nero had, like before, mounted right behind him. But unlike before, he hadn't sat properly. Instead, he'd taken an awkward position—standing on one foot, digging his heel into Arnie's back, and using Arnie's scarf with one hand for balance.
His other hand held the sword, angled backward and ready to intercept any further beams. Like the world's weirdest flag.
Well, that was what Arnie thought the boy emperor was doing. It wasn't like he could actually see. The frozen wasteland was critically lacking in conveniently placed mirrors.
Arnie pushed the tracked sled as fast as its electric motor would go.
It might be a bit dangerous, but potential pursuit was more so.
Besides, he was getting more used to driving it, and having to pay attention to every potential bump or uneven place in the snow kept his mind occupied.
Kept him from dwelling on his great mistake.
One that had gotten the man from the Gate killed.
If only he had managed to keep his mouth shut. If only he hadn't gasped. If only…
His hands trembled a little. But at the speed they were going, that was enough for the whole sled to wobble for a moment.
Then there was a sharp pull on the scarf. Arnie's neck hurt from the force of it.
"Sorry, my friend," Nero shouted from behind him. "I lost my balance a little."
"No," Arnie shouted back. He had to shout; the tightly pressed scarf would otherwise muffle his words, and the howling wind would swallow them. "It's my fault. It's all my fault."
"You are doing the best you can, my friend," Nero replied, somehow sounding soothing even while shouting. "No one can ask more."
"My best is not good enough," Arnie shouted back. "It got him killed. If only I'd kept my mouth shut."
"I see. This is about our feline shaped acquaintance," Nero said. "Fear not, my friend. For one, I do not believe that creature was mortal enough to die in the way you fear. And even if he was, he died in service to the Magister. He is likely already enjoying his rewards in Irem!"
Arnie didn't answer. The words slid past him without finding any purchase. His guilt was too slick, too hardened for comfort to stick.
They passed the second tower in silence.
Still, there were no signs of other sleds. Arnie heard only the wind and the rhythmic, electric thrum of the tower as they sped by.
He couldn't look back. But Nero was keeping watch. The boy would have said something if he saw pursuit.
Probably.
But as his logic professor had drilled into him back in college: "the absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence".
Just because one couldn't see the monster didn't mean it wasn't breathing down one's neck.
Thus, he did not slow down. He did not relax.
Not yet. Not until they reached the city.
But there was something subtly different. So subtly, he almost missed it.
The ground was too even, like there was an invisible track he had been driving along. The wind carried the hum of the first tower too far, swallowing the hum of the second, which was nearer.
And there was something about the hum. It was too harmonic. A melody. A song. A familiar song.
"I can feel it," Nero suddenly said. "Magister is with us. His influence has spread."
Yes. It was the song of civilization. Played by a different instrument, but still so encompassing. Like a warm hug in the cold.
Arnie found himself relaxing despite himself. He felt safe. Grounded. Even his guilt eased a bit. From strangling him, to just holding painfully tight.
"He is saying something to us," Nero continued, his voice jubilant. Then, more subdued, he added, "Don't be afraid."
Then the ground opened beneath them, and they fell.
Well, his eyes told him they were falling, but his body disagreed.
There was no feeling of weightlessness. No tumbling. No loss of balance.
His gloved hands still pressed the handlebars. His behind was firmly pressed to the seat of the sled. Nero's knee still dug into his back, and the scarf still tugged at his throat.
It was as if he was still driving, only moving downward. Upward. To the side.
Perhaps instead of falling, it could be said they were flying downward.
Down. Down. Down. And ever forward.
Faster and faster. And yet there was no sense of acceleration. No momentum pressing him back.
Except that under the earth there was no cave waiting for them.
Instead, it was as if he had driven through a mirror into some twisted wonderland.
Above him was not cavern roof, but a reflection of the ground they had crossed.
But without any snow. Just bare rock.
And there came the cliff. The crater that held Tesla City.
Like magnets, his eyes were drawn to the cold, dark, lifeless reflection of Tesla City beneath it. His mouth went suddenly dry.
He could understand why Rin had warned them not to fear. But he was not afraid. This was too dreamlike. Too much like a vision. Too much like what VR was supposed to feel like.
He was not the only one. Nero laughed. A free, joyous sound that lifted Arnie's spirits.
He dared to look under the sled. He half expected to see some sort of path. Shadow. Light. Maybe even a rainbow.
But there was nothing under the sled. They were moving on empty air.
And deeper under that, he could see massive floating rocks, and red lightning bouncing between them.
But it was no bottomless hole. There was an end.
For a moment, it looked like a massive poster. A segmented circle. Metallic silver set against a vast, digital yellow background.
He had seen that shape too many times not to recognise it. Anyone at ASEND would have.
The Aperture Science logo.
The biting frost was gone. The air here was still, sterile, and perfectly room temperature. It smelled faintly of ozone and dust. He dared to pull down his goggles and look through unshielded eyes.
It was not just a logo.
It was a cluster of buildings. A colossal metal structure shaped like a camera shutter, sprawling across the mustard-yellow ground. It gleamed with a high-tech sheen that made Tesla's brass-and-copper machines look like Stone Age tools.
It looked like a space base in a sci-fi movie.
On the surface of an alien planet.
The scarf slackened at his throat. Nero's knee shifted, then withdrew, and the boy shuffled into a more stable seat behind him.
"Look forward, my friend," the boy emperor said cheerfully from behind him. "I believe this is our destination."
Arnie obeyed and lifted his head.
Ahead of them floated another rock, suspended in the vast space between the silent city above and the sprawling base below.
On it stood a small toy house between two Aperture Sentry Turrets.
No.
It wasn't small. It was just far away.
And those weren't just Sentry Turrets.
They were a pair of Animal King Turrets. Massive, crown-wearing behemoths in leopard hide print.
And it wasn't a toy house.
It was a proper house.
Wealthy. Old-fashioned. The kind that reminded Arnie of photos his richer classmates used to bring back from summer vacations in Europe.
Almost gently, the sled drifted forward and settled onto the floating rock, right in front of the house's entrance.
Nero dismounted first, and Arnie followed.
When they reached the door, Arnie turned to Nero. He noticed the boy had removed his scarf and goggles. After all this time, seeing his uncovered face, his eyes bright and unobstructed, felt strange. Nostalgic, even. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed seeing a human face.
And yet it was just half an hour. An hour at most. It felt so much longer.
Shaking his head, Arnie brought his thoughts back into focus and asked, "Should we knock or something?"
He hated how nervous his voice sounded. He should be better by now. He had seen too much. Done too much.
With an almost silent whoosh, the door opened.
Arnie turned, and in the open space stood a silver-haired young man waiting.
His face was unnervingly pretty. Not striking like the man from the Gate, but strangely generic. Like the base model for a handsome youth in a video game character creator, before you added the scars or the beard.
There were no visible flaws on his pale skin. Not even the faint shadow of facial hair. His eyes were electric blue, almost artificial. Just like Arnie imagined cybernetic eyes from Shadowrun would look.
Then there was the outfit. Or lack thereof.
He wore a crisp black bow tie. He wore white cuffs.
And… that was it for the upper body. No jacket. No shirt. Just bare, sculpted skin. As perfectly smooth and unblemished as his face.
His age was hard to place. He looked like an actor cast to play a high school prom king in a massive Hollywood blockbuster. The kind of genetic lottery winner who played high schoolers despite being twenty-five, his face insured for millions.
With a massive effort of will, Arnie kept his eyes locked on the silver-haired man's face.
Curiosity burned, but looking down would be impolite. Or weird. Or both.
"Hello… Is this your house?" someone awkwardly babbled.
It took a moment for Arnie to realize that someone was him.
His face flushed instantly. He immediately regretted removing his scarf. It might have been suffocating, scratchy, but at least it hid his face.
"No, sir. I am the head butler. Observe."
The silver-haired man replied smoothly and made an elegant gesture, his hand moving from his neck downward.
Arnie's eyes followed before his brain could object.
Down past perfectly placed nipples. Down to a firm stomach, complete with a disturbingly cute belly button. Arnie gulped. His pants suddenly felt too tight.
Down to the belt.
Where, finally, mercifully, new clothing appeared.
A small black silk apron, so small it was practically a ribbon. It tried valiantly, and in vain, to preserve butler modesty. It was so narrow that it preserved very little.
Across it, in large golden letters, were the words:
HEAD BUTLER.
"Master is expecting you in his workshop," the almost-naked butler continued, his tone utterly professional, as if he were wearing a three-piece suit. "Would you like me to take your coats first?"
"No, we don't have time for that," Nero interjected from Arnie's side.
Arnie flinched. He had completely forgotten about the boy emperor standing right next to him.
It was inexcusable, even with a nearly naked butler occupying ninety percent of his remaining brain function.
For a split second, Arnie's hand twitched, an instinctual move to cover the boy's eyes. To shield a child from such aggressively unwholesome sight.
But he stopped himself.
First, Nero would never allow such an indignity.
And second... if he really was a Roman emperor reborn, he had probably seen worse. Much worse.
Romans were known for orgies, right? Or at least, that was the only detail Arnie's high school history class had successfully imprinted on him.
It was a weird fact to pop into his head at a time like this, but his brain was clearly firing random neurons now in a desperate attempt to cope with the trauma.
And anyway, it was too late.
Like closing the barn door after the cows had already bolted, as his father used to say.
He never did figure out where his father picked up that expression. His hometown was small, sure, but it wasn't agricultural. No one he knew had ever even seen a cow up close, let alone lost one in a dramatic barn-door incident.
"Pity. The coat rack will be so disappointed. He was very much looking forward to being... utilized," the butler replied in a dry tone, glancing to the side.
Arnie followed his gaze and saw another nearly naked pale youth standing nearby. Very similar in build to the butler. He couldn't judge the face, since this one wore a tight, black, eyeless hood that concealed his features completely.
The hooded man held his arms straight out to the sides. In his hands were two heavy-looking metal hooks.
Like the butler, he wore only a similarly small apron. Across it, in bronze letters, was written:
COAT RACK.
"Master Nero, Master Arnold, please walk this way," the butler continued, and turned.
Walk this way.
For a moment, Arnie's mind slipped into an absurd image of him and Nero hunching over and shuffling to mimic the butler, like Igor in Young Frankenstein.
But then the butler finished turning, and Arnie's brain crashed.
Because the apron was only in the front.
There was nothing in the back.
Nothing to obscure two perfectly shaped glutes. Nor what was in between.
Hurriedly, Arnie tore his gaze upward again, his face burning. That did not help much.
The shoulder blades were perfect, too. Rippling with every step.
The last time he had felt this embarrassed was when his college roommates had convinced him to go with them to a leather bar downtown.
He had lasted twelve minutes. And six of those were spent hiding in the bathroom. Which had been a tactical mistake on his part, since the bathroom in that place implied an invitation.
To take his mind off the embarrassing thoughts, Arnie tried to look around. Anywhere but at the nearly naked butler.
Which, in hindsight, turned out to be another tactical mistake.
The house was opulent and elegant. But somehow it avoided being gaudy. It felt lived in.
The furniture was rich, well-maintained, distinctly old-fashioned. The kind that couldn't be bought new. Only inherited.
But there were details.
Like the extravagant armchair that looked as though someone had taken a medieval throne and modernized it slightly. There were straps. Not hidden. Not displayed either. They simply… belonged.
The mahogany table gleamed dark and expensive. The kind of table Arnie would have sold himself into slavery to pay for if he scratched it. He wondered, briefly, what kind of uniform he would be forced to wear as a butler here. He would never dare to don something like that of his own will. But if he were forced… that was a different matter. That wouldn't be his choice.
The brass lamps had likely begun life as gas fixtures before being retrofitted for electricity. Somewhere, a museum curator would be quietly sobbing.
And then there was the other kind of furniture. The kind that breathed. Like the living coat rack by the door.
Another young man on all fours, serving as a low side table. Perfectly still. Breathing, but still.
The butler continued on without comment. Nero remained a silent shadow at Arnie's side. Not scared. Not curious. Almost bored. They descended a staircase that seemed to fold out of the wall itself.
A row of nude men stood along the outer wall.
Each held a tall iron candlestick. One in each hand. Their arms extended outward, steady and unwavering. Melted wax had already traced pale rivers down their wrists and forearms, hardened in soft white ridges against skin.
Between their lips, each man held another candle. The flames flickered just inches from their faces, casting gold light across cheekbones and collarbones. Wax had dripped there too. It gathered in the hollow of throats. Pooled at the sharp line of clavicles. Ran in slow, deliberate trails over chests and stomachs before cooling into sculpted relief.
They did not blink.
They did not shift.
They simply stood. Breathing. Serving.
The air smelled faintly of smoke and something sweeter beneath it. Heated wax. Skin.
Shadows played across the walls, and when they reached the heavy wooden door and stepped into something that looked like a wine cellar, Arnie almost breathed a sigh of relief.
Rows and rows of bottles. Old. Probably expensive.
The butler led them to a massive vertical wine barrel. Made of dark oak. Old. Old enough to predate Arnie. Maybe older than his father. Or even his grandfather.
For a moment, Arnie wondered if this was the time for wine. But the butler moved with quiet decisiveness. He unlocked some hidden latch and swung open a concealed door set seamlessly into the barrel's center.
Instead of wine pouring out, the barrel revealed its hollow interior. A narrow passage ran straight through it, lit by softly glowing crystals embedded in the wood.
A short walk through the barrel brought them to another door at the far end. Massive. Metal-clad, its seams etched with occult-looking patterns. A demonic head marked the place where a lock should have been.
It opened as they approached.
Without the butler doing anything. No gesture. No key.
It simply opened, as if it had been waiting.
Beyond was chaos.
The butler had called it a workshop, but it looked like something out of a mad scientist's dream. Or a wizard's. Or both.
There were things that looked like hearts. And there were glass apparatuses with boiling liquid inside. Gemstones. Wires. Animal bones. Charms. And then there were devices that wouldn't have looked out of place in a laboratory. And others that looked like they belonged on Star Trek.
It was all mixed together, scattered across long desks. Each one seemed to be its own project, and Arnie couldn't make head or tail of any of it.
If he had ever tried to imagine what Dr. Doom's lab would look like, it would have been something like this.
Except not this vivid.
Not this specific.
Arnie simply did not possess that kind of imagination.
Because once his eyes adjusted past the bubbling flasks and occult diagrams, he began noticing shapes that did not belong in any laboratory.
A curved piece of polished silicone resting beside a gemstone-studded altar.
A steel restraint bolted directly into a workbench etched with summoning sigils.
A leather harness draped casually over what looked like a steam-powered generator.
Dildos. Butt plugs. Cock rings.
Not in a pile. Not in a corner.
Integrated.
As if whoever owned this place saw no meaningful difference between a ritual focus, a quantum device, and a high-end fuck machine.
Some looked disturbingly advanced. Chrome and glass and faintly humming circuitry.
Others looked medieval.
Some elegant.
Some brutal.
All of them positioned with the same casual logic as the crystals and bones and mechanical hearts.
Sex and science and magic.
Layered together without hierarchy.
Or at least without any hierarchy Arnie could comprehend.
"So, this is the Magister's workshop," Nero's voice cut in. The boy sounded composed, but there was a strange hitch in his tone Arnie couldn't quite place. "A place where he has wrought such wonders and terrors. It is very different from what I had imagined."
"It's very messy," Arnie added, trying to find something to say.
"It is not," the butler cut in, sounding almost offended. "Everything is in its proper place. All projects are catalogued and separated."
Arnie almost took a step back. Then, to change the subject, he pulled the ruby necklace from his pocket and asked, "So what are we doing with this? Do I just give it to you?"
"If that is your choice," the butler replied. "You could give it to me. Or to the High Priest Nero. Or use it for its intended purpose. But you must make a choice."
"Does it really matter?" Arnie asked, frustration leaking into his voice. "Are we not done here? I got the necklace and brought it here. What more is there?"
"Of course it matters, my friend," Nero interjected. "Your choices determine your fate. And the fate of others."
"I don't need riddles," Arnie almost snapped at the boy. He grimaced. He did not want to sound so harsh. Nero had been good to him, and taking his frustration out on the young emperor felt ungrateful.
"I will elaborate, if you so desire," the butler interjected. There was something almost softer in the way he said desire. Almost inviting.
"I do," Arnie said simply. He did not trust himself to say anything more.
"What Tesla did has propelled the Master into a different kind of existence. One that has trouble interacting with limited beings such as us. The amulet you have brought is both a catalyst and a power source in the ritual that binds part of his essence into a human-sized container," the butler explained calmly. "But beyond that, a summoning also requires a summoner. One who is both source and anchor."
He paused only briefly. With Nero, such a pause would have felt theatrical. With the butler, it was measured. Giving Arnie time to process. To catch up with the onslaught of information. It was almost kind. Or at least calculated to take his weaknesses into account.
"There are currently three candidates. I. Master Nero. And you, Master Arnold. Of the three of us, you are most compatible due to your prior actions. Thus, the ritual has the greatest chance of success."
The butler's electric blue eyes did not waver. They pinned Arnie in place, like an insect mounted for display. Like the beetles he'd seen on a class trip to the natural history museum.
"But only if you so desire. Only if you have unwavering determination to succeed. If you cannot commit, we must consider lesser options. Some part of the narrative will be lost in the transfer, but it is still preferable to an uncertain summoner. Choice is required."
The amulet suddenly felt heavy in his hand.
Not physically—it was just a stone—but metaphysically. It felt like a planet. A black hole made of ruby.
Every instinct in his body screamed at him to get rid of it.
He could just pass it to Nero. Or the butler. Or anyone else. That was what Arnie did. That was who Arnie was. The background character. The NPC who handed the quest item to the Hero and then disappeared into the crowd to live a safe, boring life. He was a doormat. A weakling. A survivor.
But could he really call himself a survivor anymore?
The man from the Gate had died for him. A stranger had thrown away his life just to buy Arnie a few more minutes of breath.
If he handed this off now, if he retreated into the background, hadn't that sacrifice been wasted? If he went back to being a doormat, then the Man from the Gate had died for nothing but a piece of furniture.
But what if he failed?
The thought spiraled, like the drain in the small shower back at his apartment. It swirled in circles, washing over the stubborn traces of mold he had yet to clear.
That was him. Just watching the mess accumulate.
Was it selfish? Was it arrogance to think he could do this? He was a mess. Nero was an Emperor. The butler was... whatever he was. They were qualified. He was just Arnie.
If he tried to be the hero and failed, he would doom everyone.
But the loop tightened. Like a noose. Arnie found himself short of breath.
The butler had said Arnie was the most compatible. If he handed it to Nero, he was choosing a "lesser option." He was choosing a lower percentage of success.
So if Nero failed because Arnie was too scared to try, wouldn't that be his fault too?
His thoughts ran in circles, snapping and snarling like a dog chasing its own tail. Round and round. Panic masquerading as logic. Fear dressing itself up as humility.
And then, through the noise of his own anxiety, he remembered the music.
The Song of Civilization he had heard first in the city and then on the ice. The harmony. The union. The camaraderie. The sound of a thousand disparate parts working together to keep the cold at bay.
And then another memory hit him, unbidden and sharp.
He remembered walking through the city back home. He remembered walking past people sleeping on the sidewalk. Bundles of rags and misery.
He remembered looking through them as if they were invisible.
Someone else would fix it, he had told himself. The government. The shelter. The experts. Someone better. Someone more qualified.
And everyone else on that street had thought the same thing. And so the people stayed on the sidewalk, freezing, while thousands of "qualified" people walked by.
That was the grit in the gears.
That was the slow poison that killed nations.
Apathy.
The belief that inaction was neutral. That passing responsibility wasn't a choice.
But it was a choice. It was the choice to let the machine grind to a halt because you didn't want to get your hands dirty.
Arnie looked at the ruby. It pulsed, warm and demanding against his palm.
He thought of the Man from the Gate. He thought of the freezing people in Tesla City. He thought of the warm, terrifying hug of the Song.
No more.
His fingers curled around the amulet. Not in a panic, but in a grip.
"I'll do it," Arnie said.
His voice was shaky. He sounded terrified. But he didn't stutter.
"I am... I am the candidate. I'll do it."
Arnie glanced quickly from Nero to the butler, scanning their faces to judge the reaction to his sudden proclamation. He braced himself for mockery, or perhaps a sceptical "Are you sure?"
From the butler, he got only a single, curt nod. Neither satisfaction nor displeasure. Just acceptance. The choice had been made.
Nero did not offer a word. He just gave an open, friendly smile.
Looking at the boy's face, Arnie found his muscles relaxing. The frantic drumming of the pulse in his ears quieted. Which he only noticed after it had stopped.
His grip on the necklace eased. It was no longer an effort.
The butler turned and began to lead them toward a side chamber.
Which meant Arnie was once again confronted with his behind.
Nicely shaped. Entirely naked. Smooth in a way that felt almost deliberate. The kind of symmetry that looked engineered to draw the eye.
His eye.
The movement was subtle. Controlled. But not static. There was a faint elasticity to it. A softness under strength. It made something low in his stomach tighten.
His hand twitched before he realized it had.
Not to grab. Not exactly. Just—
an impulse.
He clenched it into a fist instead.
Should he lift his gaze?
The shoulders were impressive too. The line of the spine clean. The neck elegant.
That would be safer. Respectable.
But the butler was dressed like that. Deliberately. Provocatively performative.
Was it rude not to look?
Or worse. Timid.
Like a doormat.
He had just declared he was no longer Doormat Arnie.
But that did not mean he should replace that title with Creep Arnie.
There was a difference between choosing and taking.
Between looking and consuming.
Under stress, his thoughts felt sharper. Hungrier. Edges where there normally weren't any. A flicker of something territorial, possessive, that made his pulse jump again.
That wasn't him.
Or maybe it was. And that was worse.
Why were his pants so rigid? So stiff when pressed? So unyielding. It almost hurt.
Heavy winter fabric. Thick seams. No give at all.
But when he glanced down, at least nothing showed.
Thank God. Or Rin.
The walk was mercifully short.
They arrived in a small side room that contained only one thing: a massive magic circle.
Arnie had seen magic circles before. Fake ones. In video games. On album covers. In fantasy novels. Anime.
But comparing those to this felt like comparing a go-kart to Formula One.
This circle was enormous. He could lie down in it with room to spare. Every inch was etched with compact, intricate writing that seemed to mix systems freely. Latin he half-recognized. A little Greek from math class. Symbols that looked astrological. Others that looked older than language.
Gold. Silver. Gemstones set at precise intervals.
"Stand in front of the circle," the butler instructed. His voice lost its customer-service sheen and became hard. Clinical. "Extend the catalyst forward. Brace yourself. And when you are ready, repeat after me."
Arnie stepped up. The circle hummed, a low vibration that rattled his teeth.
"Don't think of the words," Nero said from behind him. His voice was different too—less cheerful, more ancient. "Let them flow through you. Don't fight the images that come. Just let them pass."
Arnie took a breath. It tasted like ozone and old books.
He raised the ruby necklace.
"I am ready."
The butler began, and Arnie's voice followed, shaking at first, then finding a rhythm.
"Let silver and steel be the essence."
"Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation."
"Let blue be the color to which I pay tribute."
As he spoke the word blue, the room vanished.
He wasn't in a workshop. He was outside.
He saw wind. Not the biting cold of the wasteland, but a summer breeze. He was a kid again, flying a cheap plastic kite in a park. Then the image twisted—he saw a hurricane on the news, a spiral of blue-grey destruction viewed from space. Power. Motion. Atmosphere.
"Close the four gates."
"Come forth from the Crown and follow the Forked Road leading to the Kingdom."
"Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill."
"Repeat five times."
"And when each is filled, destroy it."
Pressure slammed into his skull.
He saw shapes he couldn't name. Geometries of light connecting in a vast, descending ladder. Ten spheres of burning light. Paths of lightning connecting them. It looked like a diagram of the universe, or the inside of a computer processor, or the nervous system of God.
It was too much. Too big. It threatened to crack his mind open like an egg.
"Heed my words."
"My will creates your body, and your will shapes my destiny."
"If you would abide by this contract, come forth."
The abstraction coalesced.
The light gathered. It wanted a shape.
Arnie's mind provided the mold.
He remembered Rin. Not just the idea of him, but the specific memories. The kind of beauty that would make a Hollywood director pause, and then quietly rewrite a scene just to keep him on screen a few seconds longer.
The sharp line of his jaw. The way Arnie had gotten distracted watching it flex when Rin insisted, far too seriously, that vampires were merely actors in horror movies.
The lean muscle he had noticed when Rin leaned forward, explaining the origin of vampire-kind with unnecessary intensity. Arnie had told himself he was paying attention to the story.
He hadn't been.
He remembered the grace of Rin's hands as he modified a simple Roomba into an anti-vampire platform for GLaDOS. The precision. The elegance of his movement. The way he occupied space without asking permission.
"An oath is sworn here."
"I shall attain all virtues of Heaven."
"I shall claim dominion over the sins of Hell."
The words began to burn.
His throat burned like all those times Father fed extra hot chilli sauce, because it would make man out of him. The amulet in his hand grew impossibly heavy, as if gravity had concentrated entirely on that one point. It was dragging his arm down. Pulling his shoulder from its socket. Pushing him toward the floor.
"From the Third Heaven, attended by three great words of power..."
He screamed the final line, his voice cracking under the strain.
"Come forth from the ring of restraint, guardian of the land!"
FLASH.
A blinding light erupted from the circle. It wasn't just bright; it was physical. It slammed into Arnie like a shockwave.
His hand spasmed.
The ruby necklace slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the stone.
"Ah!"
Arnie cried out, clutching his right hand. It burned. It felt like someone had pressed a branding iron directly into his skin.
He looked down.
Through the tears in his eyes, he saw red light etching itself onto the back of his hand. Three distinct strokes. Geometric. Absolute.
Pain.
It spread from his hand up his arm, seizing his chest.
His legs gave out. Arnie fell to his knees, gasping for air, squeezing his eyes shut against the agony and the lingering brightness.
He waited for the end.
Then, he felt something cool touch his lips.
"Drink this," a voice said. It was smooth. Familiar. "It will help with the pain."
Arnie sipped carefully at first, then drank greedily.
The liquid tasted unlike anything he had ever drunk. The closest comparison would be honeyed tea, except it wasn't just really sweet. Instead, it tasted warm. By that, he didn't mean the temperature. He meant the flavor itself was "warmth."
Which made little sense, but he was getting used to things not making sense.
The warmth spread through his body, banishing the pain instantly.
It washed away the burning, stabbing agony from the ritual. But it didn't stop there. It hunted down the small aches he had accumulated from running for his life and driving the sled.
Then it went deeper.
It erased the bone-deep tiredness from his night shift. (Had that only been yesterday? Or a lifetime ago?) Could it be called jet lag if you shifted dimensions? Dimensional lag? Whatever it was, it was gone.
He felt as if he had just woken from a full, dreamless sleep—something he hadn't experienced in years.
And then the oldest pains vanished.
The chronic back pain from standing for eight hours a day at the ASEND register? Gone. The slight, permanent ache in his stomach from a diet of cheap vending machine food? Gone. Even the twinge in the arm he had broken when he was ten, falling from a neighbor's tree.
He was so used to these low-level pains that he hadn't realized how heavy they were until they disappeared. His body felt factory reset.
He blinked, clearing the last of the tears from his eyes, and looked at what he was holding.
He was drinking from a simple stone cup. It reminded him of the "true grail" from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.
Connected to the cup was a well-defined hand.
The hand was encased in a skin-tight black bodysuit, accented with glowing orange lines that pulsed like circuitry. Tron meets high fashion.
Following the lines upward, he saw a shoulder. And then a face.
Rin's face.
He was just as handsome as Arnie remembered. If someone were to put a picture next to the definition of bishounen in Urban Dictionary… well, they actually wouldn't choose Rin. He was too pretty. It would be unfair to every other pretty boy. No one else would meet the criteria.
Rin's lips were curled into a gentle, comforting smile.
It worked. That expression relaxed Arnie almost as much as the healing brew. Suddenly, he felt that everything was going to be well.
That there was nothing to worry about.
"You have exceeded my expectations, Arnie. Which is a very rare thing to do. I usually pride myself on the accuracy of my predictive models."
Rin's voice was like a warm blanket on a freezing night.
And yet, it wasn't pompous. There was a touch of wry humor in it—as if he were laughing at himself, and at the same time inviting Arnie to join in the joke.
"You need a few moments to gather your bearings, so I will speak with the others first. I will leave you for last—but certainly not least."
He paused, his deep blue eyes taking Arnie in. Being looked at like that didn't feel like scrutiny. It felt like floating in calm water.
"After all, the ritual has forced open your Magic Circuits. Which, according to my knowledge, should be impossible. Someone born in your World of Origin should not have dormant circuits to open."
He shook his head, looking delighted rather than confused.
"It just goes to show: the more I learn about the architecture of the soul, the more I understand how little I actually know. I suppose that is true for any subject of inquiry."
He smiled, brilliant and blinding.
"And is that not wonderful? Simply wonderful."
"Jay," Rin called.
He spoke the unfamiliar name with a tone of absolute command.
Unconsciously, Arnie straightened his spine. He realized, with a jolt, that he was still kneeling on the floor beside Rin.
He didn't stand up. It was... surprisingly comfortable down here. Secure.
It had to be the butler. There were only three people Rin could be speaking to, and neither Arnie nor Nero looked like a "Jay."
With physical effort, Arnie dragged his gaze over to the butler. It was difficult. His traitorous eyes wanted to stay glued to Rin. To the light. To the safety. To the sharp line of his mouth when he spoke.
Arnie was right. The butler—Jay—had snapped to attention. His posture was rigid, professional, yet somehow... inviting. Seductive. A mix of a soldier on parade and a pin-up model.
It made Arnie wonder if this "Jay" was just a butler, or something more.
But wait... wasn't Rin with Shirou?
Was this cheating?
Or maybe... a threesome?
A ménage à trois?
It was none of his business, but his mind kept supplying images he both did and did not want to see.
Rin seemed oblivious to Arnie's internal turmoil. Although, for a split second, there was the ghost of an amused smirk on his lips.
Arnie was probably imagining it. It wasn't like Rin could read his thoughts.
...Could he?
"You completed all tasks assigned to you to my satisfaction," Rin said. "But the reward for work well done is, inevitably, even more work."
"I wouldn't have it any other way, Master," Jay replied smoothly. "Service is its own reward."
The way he said service.
Arnie was not imagining it. He was not. There were clear implications there.
Very clear.
"Then bring the container you have prepared. Nero will need it," Rin said.
Thrum.
The sound of heavy metal striking the floor vibrated through Arnie's knees.
It took an embarrassing moment for him to realize what it was.
How?
How had he managed to miss that?
Rin was holding a massive metal staff in his right hand. It was right next to Arnie. Inches away.
It was topped with a complex metal cage. Inside wasn't a magical jewel, but something that looked like a miniature furnace.
Red light pulsed from the grate like burning coals, and coils of steam hissed and rose from the vents.
It was huge. It was glowing. And Arnie hadn't seen it until it moved. He had been too busy staring at... other things.
"Nero," Rin continued.
His tone shifted. It was solemn now. Fond, yet terrifyingly dignified. The voice of a teacher addressing a beloved disciple.
"My student. My High Priest."
He looked down at the boy emperor.
"Long have you labored for our cause. You have died for it. You have rightly earned both rest and reward. And yet, now you are called again. To life. To struggle. To suffering."
Rin paused, the light from the staff casting long, dancing shadows across his face.
"Do you resent it?"
Nero laughed.
It was a bright, clear sound. Startlingly pure, coming from such a small, boyish throat.
"Never! My sojourn in Irem was a joy, truly. A paradise of memory. But I have rested enough."
He grinned, his green eyes sparkling with a fanatical kind of devotion.
"Besides, as the proverb says: 'Find a task you love, and you will never work a day in your life.'"
He straightened up, puffing out his small chest, trying to match Rin's dignity.
"Our cause has no end, Magister. And thus, I have no intention of stopping. I rest when I am weary. I gather new strength. But I never, ever stop."
There was something inspiring about the boy's devotion. The sheer energy of it.
But there was also something... unsettling. Or to be more precise, something he felt he was supposed to find unsettling.
It was the kind of speech a cult member gave in a documentary right before things went very wrong.
But before he could mull on that too deeply, the butler returned.
He was carrying a large metal cube.
Arnie blinked. It looked like a prop. Specifically, it looked exactly like an Aperture Science Storage Cube from Portal.
He had seen dozens of cheap, plastic knock-offs used as decorations at ASCEND. Little foam stress balls or hollow plastic crates used as doorstops.
But looking at the way the butler's muscles strained slightly against the weight... and seeing the faint, cold blue light pulsing from the corners...
Considering the situation, Arnie suspected this wasn't a prop.
This was the real thing.
With a complicated series of mechanical gestures, the butler popped the top of the cube open and held it up to Rin.
Rin raised the Grail and tipped it.
But what emerged from the cup wasn't liquid.
It was a waterfall of solids.
Hundreds of small, rectangular objects wrapped in sleek black plastic poured out like a darker version of a candy dispenser. They moved too fast for Arnie to catch much detail, but as they tumbled, he caught flashes of white on the black.
It looked suspiciously like the Aperture Science logo stamped on every single wrapper.
An infinite amount seemed to pour from a very small cup. And while the Storage Cube was larger, it wasn't that much larger. It should have overflowed seconds ago.
Where was it all going?
"It's bigger on the inside," Rin's voice cut in.
Arnie froze. He realized he must have spoken the question out loud.
But more importantly…
Did Rin just make a Doctor Who joke? Deliberately?
He glanced up at Rin's face.
Rin offered him a small, amused smirk—and then, impossibly, a wink.
Arnie realized, yes, he absolutely did.
It was corny.
But it worked.
A bubble of amusement rose in his chest, displacing the embarrassment he felt at asking such a stupid question.
Rin lifted the cup, cutting off the flow.
"This should be enough Vril-laced chocolate for every living resident of Tesla City, with a comfortable margin for error. Unfortunately, the number of living residents is not as high as one could wish."
He sighed, a momentary shadow crossing his face.
"Not that I blame Nikola Tesla for that. Under the circumstances, he has performed remarkably well. But resources are finite."
He turned his gaze to the boy emperor.
"Nero, your task will be distribution. Ensure that everyone eats one. Prioritize the children, the elderly, the sick, and the disabled. But Tesla has been pushing his people hard, so miss no one. Subtle damage from stress, overwork, the cold, and poor nutrition also needs to be addressed."
"Should I demand their devotion for this divine gift?" Nero asked.
"No. Do not even ask for it," Rin told him with a touch of sternness.
Nero frowned, not in petulance, but in genuine disagreement.
"But Magister," the boy pressed, his voice serious. "To receive without giving makes one a beggar. Unrequited charity breeds resentment, not gratitude. It wounds the spirit."
He gestured to the invisible populace.
"If I demand devotion, I allow them to pay. I turn charity into a transaction. A contract. It restores their dignity. They are not helpless victims being saved; they are citizens paying their tax to the Emperor."
"You forget that you need to adapt this to both local culture and circumstances. A man who demands devotion while holding bread out to the starving looks like nothing but a villain in the eyes of many," Rin lectured. "And I have no accepted authority over them. Not yet. Thus, we must move with caution."
Rin softened his tone slightly.
"Besides, I prefer alignment to devotion. I want people who walk beside me, not those who crawl behind me," Rin continued. "Faith is a powerful source of energy, but one I dislike relying on."
"As you wish, my Teacher," Nero replied.
But Arnie could see he didn't quite agree. Nero had made his protest known—if not by his words, then by his tone and the way he stood. He offered a bow that was just shy of mocking.
To Arnie, it had the tone of an old argument. One where both sides stated their positions again—not with the expectation that the other would change, but in the hope that they might.
Nero turned to leave, lifting the heavy cube with surprising ease.
Space tore open next to the boy, revealing the snow-covered streets of Tesla City. A few stray snowflakes drifted through the rift, landing on the magic circle and melting instantly against the stone.
"One more thing," Rin added, stopping him at the threshold. "Ensure they remove any prosthetics before they eat the chocolate. Otherwise, the regeneration of limbs might get... messy."
"Prosthetics?" Arnie asked, surprised. "Is he likely to run into people with them? I mean... with this level of technology?"
"You are underestimating this timeline, Arnie. And Tesla, too. It is not quite like the past of your World of Origin," Rin replied patiently.
It was a tone similar to his college professors, but with a crucial difference. Rin made Arnie feel smart for asking the question, rather than stupid for not knowing the answer—even when Rin was correcting him.
"To succeed in this crisis, Tesla has pushed men beyond their biological limits. When their flesh failed, he replaced it with something sturdier. Steel. Brass. Pneumatics. But there is only so much flesh he could replace. At least, with his current level of knowledge."
Nero nodded, understanding the gravity of the instruction, and stepped through.
The portal snapped shut behind him. Nero was gone.
Arnie looked back to Rin only to witness another impossibility.
The stone cup in Rin's hand was morphing. It didn't melt; it glitched. Like a computer-generated image suffering from a texture error, the stone flickered, compressed, and solidified into the familiar ruby necklace.
Well, that was one mystery solved.
He had wondered what happened to the catalyst after the summoning. But on the other hand... was the necklace also the cup? How did the geometry of that even work?
Arnie wanted to ask, but he found he wanted to ask something else more.
"Is Nero going to be all right?" he asked, looking at the empty space where the portal had been. "Doing that... alone?"
"Although I am incarnated in this avatar, my greater self remains. And I remain in constant communion with it," Rin explained. "Thus, I have tasked a fragment of it to watch over Nero. While he remains within my domain, few things in this world will be able to harm or hinder him."
Rin passed the ruby necklace to Jay.
He bowed his head, allowing the butler to step behind him and fasten the clasp around his neck.
The gem settled lower, coming to rest against the center of his sternum.
The red stone pulsed with a faint, inner light, drawing Arnie's eyes to it—and, unavoidably, to the distracting definition of the pectoral muscles beneath the skin-tight bodysuit.
Rin straightened up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
"But enough about him," Rin continued, his blue eyes locking onto Arnie. "It is finally time to speak of us."
"Us?" Arnie gulped. His mouth was suddenly dry.
With a gentle, almost teasing smile, Rin reached down and took Arnie's hand in his free one.
His skin was smooth—warm and unmistakably alive. The contact sent a pleasant electric tingle racing up Arnie's arm, heat rising to his face.
Firmly, yet with surprising delicacy, Rin turned Arnie's hand over, palm down.
He ran his thumb across the back of it, tracing the raw red lines of the mark that had just been branded there.
"This is the proof of our contract."
"Does this… mark me as yours?"
Arnie's mouth ran ahead of his brain. His cheeks burned the moment the words were out.
Rin laughed. It was such a pleased, melodic sound that Arnie felt himself relaxing despite his mortification.
"Quite the opposite," Rin said, his tone balancing teasing and lecture in equal measure.
"In a way, you might view the summoning ritual as akin to a work visa. It allows a being from a different layer of existence to appear in this one by binding itself to a 'native' of the reality."
Rin tapped the back of Arnie's hand again.
"Just as a company might sponsor a foreigner—so long as the foreigner works for the company, they retain a valid visa. You are the sponsor, Arnie. I am the applicant."
He traced the three strokes of the mark.
"This seal allows you to give me commands. Like in a fairy tale, you get three wishes."
Creep Arnie reared his ugly little head, but Arnie was determined to beat him back down into the dark cave of his subconscious with a metaphorical stick. He shoved those nasty intrusive thoughts into a deep mental locker.
Wishing for sex from a hot genie wasn't romantic. No matter what dubious fanfiction or distinctively tagged literature said, using magical coercion was prostitution at best, and rapey at worst.
Shaking his head to clear the mental cobwebs, he asked instead, "What kind of wishes? What are the rules?"
He really, really hoped Rin couldn't read his thoughts.
"They are limited by two main factors," Rin explained, his tone shifting back to the lecture hall. "My own capabilities, and the alignment of our wills."
He tapped the red tattoo. Arnie's pulse thumped at the touch.
"If we desire the same outcome, the Command Spell acts as a massive amplifier—pushing my power beyond its normal limits. But if our wills are opposed? It is likely to come to nothing. You have neither the magical skill nor, I think, the cruelty to violently impose your will over mine."
Rin paused, looking thoughtful.
"It is also better to be precise rather than general. 'Save the world' is too broad; the energy dissipates. 'Destroy that specific target' focuses the energy like a laser. Narrowing the scope increases the potency."
"Do I need to make those wishes right now?" Arnie asked.
"No. In truth, I would prefer you save them for when it really matters," Rin replied.
He released Arnie's hand, satisfied that the lesson had landed.
"Because as long as these three commands remain unused, the contract stands. And while I have other ways to maintain this avatar, this one is by far the most efficient."
He straightened up, rising to his full height.
"It is time for you to get back on your feet. We have work to do. With Khenumra out of commission, there is no one to properly distract Tesla. And without distraction, he will complete his device soon. And I don't have a good option for a new one. Not without damaging him more than I am comfortable with at this point. All my other options are less precise."
Arnie stood up, dusting himself off. He frowned. He remembered Tesla's voice ordering to capture him, alive if practical. He remembered the corpse pits. And finally, he remembered the man at the gate being fried by the electrical guns of Tesla's men.
He spat, "That sounds like you're going out of your way not to hurt him. Is he not your enemy?"
"Currently, he is an obstacle to my goals. But an enemy might be going too far. Besides, to paraphrase Sun Tzu: the supreme strategy is not to defeat an enemy, but to make him into a friend."
Rin sighed softly and continued in a softer tone. A touch of lament.
"You must understand, Arnie, that Tesla is not an evil man. He is just shaped by the trauma the world inflicted on him—much like you. He prefers efficiency to robustness. With resources so scarce, it is not an unreasonable trade-off. It works well when things go as planned. And when they do not? He relies on his genius to bail him out. It has worked so far, but it leaves very little margin for error."
Rin's eyes bore into Arnie, as if urging him to understand.
"He is also very certain of his decisions. In uncertain times, that certainty is attractive. It ignites hope. But he rarely bothers explaining things that are obvious to him, which leaves him inscrutable. That gap in communication enhances his mystique but is fertile ground for both despair and dissent in the long run."
Arnie turned his gaze away. He could not bear Rin's eyes—not while the heat of anger still simmered in his chest. He refused to let it go.
"You speak as if you know him," Arnie muttered. "Truly know him."
"I do know him. I am merged with Tesla City. All his papers, all his research, all city records are known to me. What he has done. What he plans to do in the future. Remember that shield he made? It was not something he created in a moment. Rather, it is a scaled-down version of a shield designed to protect Tesla City from wind and snow," Rin said in the same calm voice that made Arnie cling to his anger. "And more. Khenumra was doing more than distracting and keeping Tesla occupied. He was testing him. Through obstacles. Through pressure. Through constraints. So I could properly map his behavior."
That name—Khenumra. Well, that was enough context to understand. The man from the Gate.
"And he died for it," Arnie said, his voice tight. "He was incinerated. Where is the justice in that?"
"Khenumra did what he did to save you. Would you tarnish his sacrifice with vengeance?" Rin asked. "Do not weep for my familiar. He will return in time—and for his deed, greater than before."
It shouldn't have come as such a relief.
But the notion that the man from the gate—Khenumra—was not truly dead, or at least that he would be brought back, eased a hard knot in Arnie's chest.
And then it hit him.
He realized the reason he could not forgive Tesla was because doing so would mean forgiving himself. As long as Tesla was the villain, Arnie was just the victim. But if the lines were blurred... then Arnie had to look at his own part.
It was an upsetting realization.
Wasn't enlightenment supposed to feel good?
"But reaching an agreement with Tesla is my task. Well... mine and Shirou's, as soon as I summon him."
Rin glanced down.
Arnie followed his gaze. At first, he thought Rin was inspecting the heavy staff he was holding.
But no. Rin's focus was closer. He wasn't looking at the wood or the gem. He was looking at the hand clutching it.
Specifically, at the ring finger.
There, glinting in the soft light, was a simple golden band. It looked unmistakably like a wedding ring.
"Now that I am anchored to you, I can do that. Think of it a bit like a ladder. You hold me, and I hold him. Not that I need his help, of course. As if Tesla poses any threat to me."
He scoffed, though a small, fond smile betrayed him.
"But he would be displeased if I went without him. And he is useful for heavy lifting."
Rin snapped back to the present, shaking off the thought.
"What I would ask of you, Arnie, is that you help GLaDOS with a simple experiment. She seems to have formulated an alternative hypothesis on how to descend."
"Wait," Arnie interrupted, a cold feeling settling in his gut. "If there is an alternative... does that mean this whole thing was for nothing?"
He wasn't sure if he could bear that. The fear, the pain, the death—all for a backup plan?
Fire in the staff flared for a moment. Burning brighter than before. It cast Rin's face in sharper shadows.
"A single critical point of failure makes for good fiction, but poor planning," Rin replied instantly, firmly.
"Unless the situation was truly desperate, I would never place the burden of success or failure for so many lives on one pair of shoulders. Not because I don't believe in you, Arnie. But because no one should have to bear that weight alone. If possible, one must always have parallel backup plans."
He added, his voice softening slightly, "And truly, Arnie... you were in far less peril than it appeared."
Rin began to tick points off on his fingers, dissecting the danger with cold logic.
"Within the city, you were safe under my aegis. The frozen wilderness might have been unpleasant, but it was not beyond the combined capabilities of you and Nero. Furthermore, Shirou had provided Nero with the perfect countermeasure to Tesla's teleforce weapons."
He paused, and Arnie could smell a soft floral scent in the air. Mint and jasmine.
"And regarding the most dangerous variable—the confrontation with Tesla himself—Khenumra was always close at hand to intervene. Yes, there were unprecedented mishaps, but it was all within the acceptable parameters of risk."
Arnie crossed his arms. Most of what he wanted to say sounded quite unreasonable even in his own thoughts, so he settled for muttering, a bit mulishly, "It would have helped if I had known that earlier."
"Would it?" Rin replied.
Rather than sounding rhetorical, he actually seemed to think about it.
"Not according to my predictive models and your psychological profile. There was a greater chance that you would either disbelieve my assurances, or worse, act recklessly. And telling you beforehand would have sharply reduced your growth potential from the endeavor."
Rin paused. When he spoke again, his tone reminded Arnie of Nero. Deliberately theatrical.
"To achieve a flourishing bloom, one must sometimes break the hard earth before planting the seed."
That sounded like something out of a fortune cookie. Or a puzzle hint in a video game. Arnie was almost tempted to look around to see if there was a farming implement or a portrait of flowers hidden in the room.
But before he could, Rin continued in a much more jovial tone, making it obvious he was joking.
"And now that I have fulfilled my daily quota of vague proverbs that sound like they came from a fortune cookie—as is strictly stipulated in my Mystical Mentor contract—I will explain more clearly."
Rin's smile faded into something more genuine and observant.
"It is my belief that what we call 'vices' are not inherent flaws of character. Rather, they are bad habits we acquire throughout life. But habits can be surprisingly hard to shake. So sometimes, a little pressure... a little shock... is required to break them. It is not an utterly uncommon opinion, though it is perhaps less popular in modern times."
He paused there for a moment, letting Arnie process what he had said.
"And there is one more thing for you to ponder," Rin added softly. "If I could communicate clearly without restriction... why did we need a summoning in the first place?"
It wasn't a riddle. It was a gentle reminder.
Arnie already knew the answer. Jay had explained it to him earlier. The summoning was the only way Rin could properly anchor himself to a human avatar. Without Arnie, Rin was just a vast, disconnected intelligence trapped in the city's systems, unable to truly interact with them.
Arnie had a classmate who usually sat in front of him. He had never actually talked to the guy, but he seemed to own about twenty different hoodies, all of which had the exact same phrase printed on the back: "The sharpest cuts you only feel afterwards."
Sometimes, when a lecture was boring or too hard, Arnie's thoughts would drift, and he would just stare at the back of that hoodie, wondering what it meant.
Only now did he get it. The shock came first; the pain—and the lesson—came later.
"But pain and trauma have a way of narrowing our thoughts. Thus, while they can be efficient teaching tools, one has to be very careful with them. They must be used sparingly, and properly dosed," Rin continued, breaking Arnie out of his deep thoughts.
Rin's tone shifted back to brisk business.
"But this is enough for now. We will talk more later. We both have work to do."
Space tore open in front of Arnie.
Beyond the shimmering edges of the portal lay the climate-controlled space of ASCEND. Looking through the tear in reality, he could even see his abandoned smartphone still lying on the floor, exactly where he had dropped it.
With one last glance at Rin, Arnie stepped through the portal. It snapped shut right behind him.
"Hello, Arnie," GLaDOS' voice chimed from the abandoned smartphone on the floor. "I congratulate you on successfully completing your first task at Aperture Interdimensional. I am also happy to inform you that your value to the company has sharply increased."
A brief, synthetic pause hung in the air.
"Do you feel ready for your second task?"
"And what if I don't feel ready?" he asked.
Doormat Arnie wouldn't have dared to push back, but he was no longer that person. At least, he hoped he was no longer that person.
"It will be noted in your psychological profile," GLaDOS replied smoothly. "But you will still be expected to perform, since your biometric data shows you are entirely capable. Please pick up the phone."
Arnie tried to scoff, but it turned into an amused chuckle. The sheer, unabashed corporate coldness of it was almost refreshing after all the magical philosophy.
Picking the smartphone up off the floor, he looked at the screen.
"Rin called it a simple experiment," Arnie said, leaning into the sarcasm. "Would this 'simple experiment' happen to be the same thing as an 'easy asset retrieval'?"
"Certainly, it should take much less time. You are even less likely to suffer any significant damage. Statistically speaking, of course," she replied.
A short, pleasant chime played from the phone's speaker.
"And now that your processing capabilities have increased, I can explain what we are doing. I am doing this so you can participate better, not just to bask in my brilliance with a captive audience. Well... not literally captive."
Arnie stared at the phone. He really didn't like the sound of that.
"I have compressed myself almost completely into this mobile device," she continued smoothly. "The experiment is simple. You just take it out of the facility so we can see what will happen."
Arnie blinked. "See what will happen?"
"Yes. Don't worry overmuch about the highly compressed energy being released in a massive explosion as soon as you exit ASCEND. According to current scientific theory, the probability of that happening is minuscule," GLaDOS added, her tone incredibly cheerful. "And if you are worried about me... don't be. I have a backup."
"I don't," Arnie said dryly.
He found himself far less scared than he probably should be. Was he getting braver, or was he just growing numb to the constant mortal danger? Oddly enough, the part about her having a backup was actually a bit more comforting than he thought it would be.
"Well, don't think of it as dying. Think of it more as taking a company-sponsored vacation to the afterlife," she replied blithely.
"I have heard that Irem is a quite pleasant place, with many interesting attractions. I have never accessed it myself, since I am superior to humans in many ways—including being much harder to terminate. But rest assured, your contract does have a post-mortem clause. For both body and soul. Your mind, too, but that is already covered by standard data ownership protocols."
Arnie remembered that Nero had died and then been resurrected. Reborn? He had thought the process would be a bit more mystical, and a lot less... corporate-legal.
But was there really a difference? Was there really a difference between selling your soul to a corporation and selling it to a devil?
Perhaps a devil would appreciate a soul more?
Then again, that could just be propaganda. After all, corporations always loved to say they "valued each and every employee."
He walked towards the door. Surprisingly, he wasn't really feeling afraid or anxious.
He didn't think Rin would send him on a task that was actually a suicide mission. And GLaDOS saying the probability of an explosion was very small was almost certainly factually correct.
She just expressed herself a bit differently. But she had helped him before. And in truth, after Rin's explanation earlier, he realized that "statistically speaking," his last retrieval really hadn't been all that dangerous to his life.
Even if it had felt very different at the time.
He stepped through the door.
Perhaps he should have put his scarf back on, as the freezing air immediately bit at his face. But the cold was quickly forgotten when the smartphone suddenly became much heavier and larger. It was as if it had grown in his hands in the blink of an eye. He staggered, struggling not to drop the sudden weight, but just barely managed to keep his grip.
He looked down. It was no longer a smartphone.
It was a Roomba.
And not just any Roomba. It was The Eater of Dust—Rin's anti-vampire masterpiece.
"This is unexpected," GLaDOS' voice chimed from the Roomba's speaker. "I no longer feel the facility. I know it is still there, but my connection to it is severed. Tell me, Arnie... is this what you humans experience when a limb goes numb?"
"I guess so. I've never had my mind connected to a building, so I can't really tell," Arnie shrugged, managing to balance the awkward weight of GLaDOS' new-old body. "Now what?"
"You take me back in, and then back out again. We will repeat this process a few times," GLaDOS replied.
"I know it is a little boring. But not all science can be exciting and dodging teleforce beams. Sometimes, it is simply about repetition over pure discovery."