"Mm… your mother is the luckiest woman in the world since you were inside her."
Jason was at it again. Staring at his reflection in the saloon's dirty window, switching between Johnny Bravo poses and brooding villain stances like he was auditioning for every role in an edgy anime. He flexed his arms, winked at himself, and then pointed a finger gun at the glass.
"My my… I am handsome, ain't I? Heh heh heh… But who the hell are you, you heaven's sweet nectar?"
Of course, this time, Jason knew perfectly well it was himself in the reflection. That wasn't the point. The point was… who was he in the novel?
He pressed his palm to the glass, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper.
"Are you Clint, the hero? No… too obvious. Too cliché. Too… vanilla. You don't have the scars of a family slaughtered in front of you. You don't have the eyes of a man who bathes in revenge and garlic."
Jason tilted his head, the reflection copying him perfectly, which only made him laugh like a maniac.
"Or are you… the rival? The dark horse. The bastard child of fate. The one who shows up in chapter 200 with a cool name like Nightfang Duskbane."
He slid his hand down the glass, streaking the dust into a smudge that looked vaguely like a tear.
"Or maybe… you're just a corpse waiting for a vampire to snack on. A background character. A side meal. Hah… No. No, heavens wouldn't waste their precious nectar on a disposable extra. Not me. Not Jason."
He twirled his revolver, pressed the barrel to the glass right against his own forehead, and grinned at his reflection.
"You're me. But you're also everyone else I could be. Hero, villain, rival, clown. Doesn't matter. In this world of blood and dust, I'll be the bullet that writes the story."
Then he leaned close to the glass, nose almost touching his reflection, and hissed, "And when the corpses laugh… I'll laugh louder."
Yep, it was cringey, but to Jason, this was the start of his legend. And for that, he needs to know who he was.
From the rooftop, Billy whispered to himself.
"He just called himself a nectar bullet corpse clown. This man's brain is cooked."
The kid looked at the glaring sun and sighed, clutching his chest.
"It-It should be safe now. But where did these guys come from…?"
He meant the travelers, or maybe bandits, who had shown up last night and gotten shredded like paper by the vampire.
Thinking about the vampire, Billy chewed his lips raw. He didn't remember the scary details. His brain had blocked them out. Probably for survival.
He glanced again at the lunatic below, who was now crouch-walking like some kind of deranged crab soldier.
Billy decided he'd seen enough madness for one day. Better to regroup with the other survivors hiding in the saloon's basement. At least they screamed like normal people.
Meanwhile…
Jason's head jerked toward the inside of the general store. His ears twitched. He froze.
"Wh—who's there?!"
He whipped out his revolver, spinning it twice like he was starring in a Wild West musical. Then he crouched low, creeping toward the door in exaggerated, slow-motion steps like he was inside a stealth game. His lips moved.
"Metal Gear Jason… crawling through the ashes…"
Inside, the sound continued: a mechanical whirr, followed by a sputtering chk-chk-chk… then a long grinding squeal like a dying robot. Static followed—like an old printer spitting out receipts at the speed of a dying snail.
Jason's eyes widened, the veins popping on his forehead.
"So it begins… the ancient relic awakens."
He pressed his back against the batwing door, eyes gleaming with self-inflicted madness.
"I know that sound. A vampire wouldn't use such tricks. No… this is older. This is the hum of technology long forgotten. Forbidden machines, sealed by gods themselves in the dusty annals of time… and now… they call to me."
Billy, from his perch, squinted.
"…It's a damn broken telegraph, you idiot."
But Jason was already rolling dramatically through the doorway.
Billy looked for the barrel beside the house, it was the barrel he used to climb here. He wasn't athletic enough to jump and climb on top of the houses, with his pot belly and non existent stamina.
But this has to do.
Meanwhile, Jason crept forward, every step exaggerated like he was sneaking past laser tripwires.
On the counter sat a telegraph machine, sputtering and groaning like an old man with constipation. A strip of paper was slowly sliding out. Jason's eyes widened.
"A telegraph…!"
He hissed through his teeth, crouching lower.
Jason actually knew one thing about it: a telegraph was for sending important messages long-distance. That was enough knowledge to inflate his ego by 300%.
"But who… who dares send words at this time of nightmarish calamity? No, wait… of course. The heavens! The elders above finally seek an audience with me!"
His grin stretched ear to ear.
Jason vaulted over the counter like a professional stuntman in a movie, landing face-first, then pretending it was intentional as he smoothly rolled to his knees. He grabbed the telegraph machine with both hands and yanked it closer, eyes shimmering.
"Aha! I was right all along! Jason, the Heaven's Chosen One, has been granted a divine communiqué!"
For once in his entire ridiculous spree, Jason actually wasn't wrong. It was indeed a message. Just… not from heaven.
The paper spat out more words. Jason squinted, his lips trembling as he read the first line aloud, voice dripping with holy awe.
"'This following message is for the traveler from the faraway land.' Whoa… great start! I am the traveler! I am faraway! This is literally about me!"
More words printed. He leaned closer, so close his nose was almost smudging the ink.
And then the name came. The kind of name that should send shivers down a sane man's spine. But Jason? No. Jason thought it was the coolest, edgiest, most badass thing he'd ever heard.
His voice deepened as he read:
"'Welcome… to Narrative Correction Protocol…'"
He dropped the paper, hand clutching his chest like he'd just been proposed to. His pupils dilated.
"Oh… my… god. I knew it. I knew it! The gods are not only watching me, they're correcting the story just to fit me! I'm too important for fate itself!"
Yeah, that's not it. That is not it, at all.