Chapter 27:
I Heard You Like Isekai, So I Put Isekai in Your Isekai
They pulled over into a gas station with a nearby parking lot full of cars in various states of disrepair. Scrivener pulled the parking brake and stepped out. “I'll see if I can gather up enough gas,” he said. He eyed a tanker truck and walked meaningfully toward it.
Noodles stepped out of the car and stretched her legs. Kenichi extricated himself out from under Everyday's boots and did the same. He gathered up the trash: the ramen cup, the remains of the chips that he could get without bothering Everyday, and a few other things that were gathered on the floor of the back seat. He walked over to a garbage can to toss them out. When he got there, though, he saw that it was overfilling, so he did his best to stack the trash on the top so it would stay there.
Noodles watched him.
He walked over to the car and leaned against the hood, next to her. “I've had a crazy time these past few weeks,” he said.
She looked over at him.
“Would you believe that I've gone from world to world, battling dark lords, dying, repeating, over and over again?” He stared up at the cracked moon.
She nodded.
He looked at her. “Would you also believe that in each one of those worlds, there was another you?”
She didn't say anything at first. She just turned to watch the distant glow of the radioactive horizon. After a silence that was almost too long, she spoke. “It's best not to get to know anybody too well here,” she said quietly. “It makes it easier when they're gone.”
After another uncomfortable silence, he said, “What's a name extraction?”
She hopped up onto the hood of the car and sat, crossing her legs at the knee. “It's simple,” she said. “We get some powerful entity to tell us its name, then we use that name to control it.” Names have power.
“How do we convince it to tell us its name?”
“Most of the powerful entities here love games and challenges, and they're bound to the terms of the agreement. Put something on the line, and if it's worth it, they'll take it up.”
“Whose name are we extracting?”
She looked out to the southeast, past the ruins of cities and civilization, dead or dying peach trees like writhing skeletons, and a cold, careless wind blowing the remains of what may have been a happy place into a cloud of dust. “We call him Mr. Fiddles,” she said. “He loves music challenges. He's based much of his persona on some old country song.”
“Seltzer,” said a voice behind them. “Can you help me carry these?” Kenichi looked back. Scrivener was lugging several gascans. For a moment, the massive robot priest almost looked like Oren in the dim darkness of the parking lot.
“Sure,” Kenichi said. He gave a little nod to Noodles, who returned it before looking back up at the sky, the millions of blue gems decorating the shroud of darkness that would one day cover them all.
He took two of the cans from the robot. They were heavy. “Thank you,” said Scrivener.
As they started fueling the Golf, Kenichi looked over at Scrivener. “Are you really a priest?” he asked.
The robot looked over at him. “Of course, in a manner of speaking. I am programmed to perform all of the functions of a priest. I can consecrate things, and hear confession, and ordain ceremonies, you name it.”
“How does that work?”
The robot shrugged. “There are mysteries, and then there are mysteries,” he said.
“Can you hear a confession on the behalf of someone else?” Kenichi asked.
The robot let out a sound that might have been a laugh. “It's quite unorthodox,” he said, “but I suppose there are circumstances where it might be done.” He set down the can he was holding. “Are you familiar with the concept of a sin eater?”
Kenichi shook his head.
The robot picked up another can and started pouring that into the tank. “It's quite a fascinating concept. It involves eating a piece of bread off of a dying person, and in that act, you carry the sin of that person until you can find a priest to forgive you. That way, the person dies without sin on them. Quite an interesting idea, if you ask me.” He turned to look at Kenichi. “I suppose if that's okay, I can hear your second-hand confession.”
“I'm not even sure if it'll work. It was a different place, a different time, a different age.”
“If it doesn't work, he'll be no worse off.”
Kenichi took a breath. “His name was Matahei Fushimi. He confessed to the killing of Lord Takatori. He claims his act was a necessary evil to bring for the downfall of the Shogun Kagira, and in a way, it was true. When I fought her on the roof of a train, I was helped by an…” he paused, wondering if he was sounding like a lunatic to this robot. “An angel.”
The robot considered this while he poured in another can of fuel. “Well, it certainly sounds like a miracle. I shall process this confession in due time, and perhaps your associate will benefit from the act.”
Sounds came from nearby. They were equal parts inhuman and human. Noodles hopped off the hood and made for the trunk.
“What's going on?” Kenichi said.
She looked at him, her eyes angry, accusatory. “Were you using names?” she asked.
Kenichi's eyes widened. “Yes, but…”
“No buts,” Noodles said. She opened the trunk and pulled out the violin case. “You've attracted the attention of somebody.” She peered into the darkness, at the figures beyond the rusted out wreckage of cars and campers. “Or sombodies.” She slammed the trunk. “Let's get going.”
“But I haven't used the last can,” said Scrivener.
“There's no time. Let's go.” She got into the passenger seat. Kenichi hurried to his own seat, nudging aside Everyday's boots.
“What's the big idea?” she said.
Scrivener climbed into the driver's side and roared the engine to life.
“Keep your head low,” Noodles said. She popped open the violin case and pulled out a comically large gun. Then, while Scrivener accelerated, navigating around the parked cars and detritus, she rolled down the window. Leaning out of it, she closed one eye, aimed, and fired the gun. Some of the figures had started running, but the shot heard ‘round the parking lot made the stop. Still, that wasn't the intended effect of Noodle's action. The bullet she fired hit the last gascan, and that caused it to explode into a flurry of flaming fuel. It landed on the nearby figures, and they writhed under the burning flames. Soon, they were just a light in the distance, and once they were safely on the highway again, Noodles rolled the window back up before stowing the gun in the case. That done, she glared at Kenichi. “No more names,” she said.
“Sorry,” Kenichi said.
Everyday sighed, pulled out a Twinkie, and shared it with the rabbit.
They drove on into the night.
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