Infernal Contract: Bugsby, The Hero

  --- Malcolm ‘Bugsby’ Morgan ---

  Sitting in his workshop he pulled the needle through the cloth and tugged the thread tight, a repeating pattern that he did over and over as he sewed the thing on his table together.

  It was late, the night having long since overtaken the day hours prior. A time that he should have long since gone asleep for but… Sleeping wasn’t something he particularly cared for if he could help it. Often only doing so when he was too exhausted to do anything else, and his mind too tired to dream of anything else.

  Which is why he was up so late, putting a needle through cloth, stitching together the fabric that contained… the things he’d been putting together. Blueprints belonging to his fa-

  He tugged the thread too tight. (Need to loosen it if I don’t want it to tear like before…)

  The blueprints he was following weren’t actually a one for one, these materials being smaller, easier for someone to obtain without the few people ‘responsible’ for him asking questions about why he needed this or that. Especially given his already established hobby of making little dolls like his moth-

  (Deep breaths. Countdown from ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One…) He repeated this several times forcing the thoughts, the memories, away.

  They still lingered at the edge of his mind, but the meditative exercise was enough to let him keep working, to keep ignoring his problems as he instead worked on the modified project he and Booker had begun.

  (Booker…) He glanced at the tattoo on his hand of two rabbits chained together, the smiling rabbit’s face once more appearing in his mind.

  The Demon wasn’t overtly intrusive, only appearing when Malcolm summoned him. Often continuing immediately off of their previous visit as if no time had passed, even though weeks if not months had passed between each visit. (Then again maybe to an immortal demon that is next to time at all…)

  Despite this difference of perspective, the two of them had developed something of a routine after the first few visits. The Demon nudging him one way or another to the many, many tasks being thrown his way.

  Which given how they made him too exhausted to think about anything else… (Not sure if I’m grateful for it, but it’s better than nothing I guess…)

  He’d done a… lot of things over the last year, and even if none of it had quite… panned out the way that Booker was sure it would, he could see how far each path could go if he actually focused on it.

  Re-opening his hometown’s Bugsby’s after it had been shut down was, perhaps not the best idea but it still gave him a place to disappear to and ‘get out of the house’ which got both his uncle and his therapist off of his back after that fight he got into with his harassers around town. (Really, I broke one guy's nose and then got the shit kicked out of me by five guys, yet everyone wants to say I’m the unstable one.)

  (He wasn’t stupid enough to deny that he was very unstable. He just tried very hard not to think about it.)

  Still the fact that the arcade was once a serial killer’s lair meant that he was losing more money than he was making off of the whole venture, given how everyone was wondering just how many secret rooms the building actually contained beyond the one once filled with child corpses. (And if I include this workshop I’m up to three.)

  (He didn’t want to know why she was here instead of her grave.)

  Regardless though, that lack of traffic was enough that he could hire a random stoner teen and consider everything taken care of if only because there was nothing to actually take care of. (It was even enough to get Booker to give me a ‘pass’ on his whole ‘make a friend’ task.)

  Why a Demon wanted him to be more sociable he didn’t- (No. Wait. Being able to talk to people is probably a must for getting them to sell their souls.)

  He idly scratched at the bandages around his hand, the chained rabbits beneath them itching, as he leaned back in his seat and spent a minute just staring at the ceiling fan spinning in circles, his eyes tracking the object as he tried to just not think for a moment.

  When that failed (Damn it.) he let out a sigh before raising his hand in front of his face and beginning to pull on his magic. The mark on his hand burned briefly before quickly being overshadowed by the faint stabbing inside of his skull that came anytime he used his own magic instead of the ambient Anima of the world.

  Still he recited the words, “Booker H. Freeman, Booker H. Freeman, Booker H. Freeman.”

  The first time he’d done this he’d felt like an idiot reciting Beetlejuice or Bloody Mary in the dark. Then he’d found out that it took significantly less effort to summon Booker by using his actual name with the summoning, something about narrowing down the summoning’s focus in advance and reaching across dimensions in a magical handshake of some kind.

  Still the flash of crimson, and the smiling rabbit man were proof enough that the whole thing was still legit. His white fur stitched together, but held firm as the Demon adjusted his black and red suit, before giving a wide fanged grin as he caught sight of Malcolm.

  Though if he wasn’t mistaken there was something… off about it this time. Not in the predatory way that Booker got while talking about violence or when teaching him how to fight but still almost… subdued, compared to normal.

  “Ah, Malcolm. How are you doing this fine evening?” Booker asked, his red eyes slowly roaming the room for any changes since the last time Malcom summoned him a few weeks prior.

  “Frustrated.” He admitted, seeing no reason to bother lying. “I’m having trouble getting anything done.”

  “Hmm, for some reason I doubt that.” Booker noted skeptically as the Demon made his way to one of Malcom’s inter projects lining the wall, several chains holding a metallic limb in the air, several threads and reels allowing the whole thing to be flexed and controlled from a small device near the shoulder.

  “It’s really not that impressive…” At least not when compared to the revolutionary animatronics and robotics that made up the machinery of Morgan Mechanics that his uncle managed. A decade built industry giant, designed solely to keep a family arcade from flopping.

  As it was the many designs that he’d shown Booker were not his own but rather belonged to his fa- “Trust me, with the resources I’ve got I’m really not that impressive.”

  Booker clicked his tongue. “Are all teenagers truly so insecure… Because to be perfectly honest, there’s only so much a metamorphosis can do to help someone.”

  “Metamorphosis?” He repeated with a frown. “Like with butterflies?”

  “Something like that.” Booker nodded, claws tracing the metal limb as the Demon turned away and made his way towards the doll Malcom had been working on. “What’s wrong with this little fellow? He looks quite finished.”

  “He looks done, just like the last twelve did before catching fire when I tried to enchant them.” He couldn’t help but scoff.

  “Well, technically this isn’t Enchanting.” Booker told him as the Demon examined his notes and the spell circuit he’d drawn onto the table. “That involves applying structured magic into an object to achieve a desired effect while slowly feeding on the ambient anima around them to sustain the reaction.”

  He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Yeah, I know what I’m trying to do.”

  “Yes, well given how this project is based on your deceased mentors I can tell you quite clearly that what you’re attempting here goes beyond basic enchanting.” Booker assured him, seemingly amused by his sass.

  “Which is why I’m trying to do it.” He said, not quite sure how to explain why he was using those old notes. Why he was trying to understand why his da-

  He took a deep breath before letting it out. “Look, can you help me or not?”

  Booker seemed to stall for a moment, his eyes locked onto the things on the table as his eyes seemed to ripple in a rainbow of colors.

  He wasn’t sure why Booker seemed to need time to buffer every now and again, but given the sheer well of knowledge that the Demon had he had no doubt in what the rabbit was going to tell him. Namely that, “Of course I can help you! While your rate of development is downright prodigious, you’re still many years from matching my own power and experience.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  There was another pause, this one not caused by whatever weirdness was going on with Booker, as indicated by the fact that said Demon was blinking with a steady if lazy red gaze.

  With another roll of his eyes he asked, “Right, better question then, will you help me?”

  “Of course! You’re an investment!” Booker smiled, reminding Malcolm that their relationship was strictly mercenary if mutually beneficial. “That said, I feel like the best way to help you out right now is to get you out of this workshop.”

  “I’m happy in my workshop.” He tried to argue, as much to keep the Demon contained to this underground bunker as to keep from having to go outside where he’d inevitably have to deal with people. (But mostly containing the murderous Demon.)

  Booker gave him a skeptical look. “Really my boy? At your age I was already leaving the nest, attending college, and making my way in the world.”

  “You went to college?” He frowned, unable to hide his skepticism. (Though I guess it makes sense that hell has schools.)

  Booker blinked before nodding, his buffer rather quick this time. “Paid my tuition by being a cabaret musician! Learned how best to play it by ear and work a crowd in between lessons.”

  “Yeah, well… I’m probably not going to college. As long as I don’t give up majority shares in my family’s company I’m pretty much set for life.” And while he may not be extremely close to his ‘Uncle’ he doubted the man would fuck him over on the company given how neither he nor Malcolm’s par- The other co-founders wanted the company stocks to go public. (‘Hold onto your passions, and don’t let anything take them from you.’) (...)

  “That’s fine as well.” Booker assured him. “After all, while I may’ve been the first in the family to attend college, that doesn’t make anyone lesser for doing otherwise. So long as you seek to better yourself, how you choose to do so is your own prerogative based on your own desires for this life.”

  He wasn’t sure if that was a prodding to stay ‘valuable’ to the Demon that owned his soul, or a legitimate reassurance. (Better to believe the former than assume the latter.) “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The rabbit man stared at him for a moment, whether buffering or waiting for something he didn’t know.

  He scratched at his bandages as he waited for the rabbit man wondering if he should try getting back to things just before Booker’s smile seemed to widen to even more inhuman proportions. “I see… We’re going to have to do this the fun way, aren’t we?”

  (I do not like the sound of that…)

  Without waiting for further response Booker reached around Malcolm and picked him up by the scruff of his neck, something that he was sure would have hurt him if not for the cool warmth magic that spread from where the Demon touched him.

  Knowing that there was nothing he could do to actually stop Booker from manhandling him, he went limp as the Demon spun on his heels and carried Malcolm out of his workshop and into the arcade proper.

  Part of him felt he should make some kind of effort to conceal Booker from being discovered in public, or at the very least make sure that he wasn’t discovered with the Demon given how his reputation couldn’t really take another hit.

  The larger part of him however wondered what the point of that would be given how people already thought him some kind of satanist just because of what was found in the arcade basement. (Wonder if an actual Demon will scare them into backing off?)

  Even if it didn’t, (it’d at least be funny…)

  Like the way that ‘Sparky’ the stoner manning the front desk was looking at the sight of his boss being carried around by a giant rabbit man like some kind of wayward kit, a burning joint in his hands.

  Despite his situation Malcolm found he couldn’t help but comment, “Sparky, what have I told you about doing drugs? You never know what that shit’s laced with!”

  “Uh… sorry boss?” The stoner apologized, wide eyes on the burning joint in his hands.

  “Also I’m not paying overtime just because you lost track of time while high. Again!” He warned the other teen as Booker took him out into the night air. (At the very least there shouldn’t be too many people out this time of night…)

  Twisting around what little he could while in the Demon’s grip, he watched Booker’s eyes roam the world around him, several colors flickering through his eyes, ever so briefly settling on green before finally returning to his usual blood red as he set off while humming a tune.

  After a few moments of this he found himself asking, “What exactly are we doing?”

  “Hunting.” Booker answered.

  “For?” He prodded, a faintly uneasy feeling in his stomach.

  “Acceptable prey.” Booker elaborated, doubling said unease.

  “Do… Do we have to?” He couldn’t help but grimace, a reminder of why he’d been trying so hard to keep Booker in his basement rather than letting him roam the streets.

  Booker paused at that, less his usual buffering and more something else as the Demon’s face softened. “... Honor dictates we must.”

  (I… have no idea what that means.)

  After a few more silent moments that Malcolm spent trying to figure out how best to stop Booker from killing someone, the rabbit man paused, tilting his head ever so slightly as his long ears twitched.

  With a brief flash of green, crimson eyes snapped to the side as Booker bared a smile of nothing but fangs. “There we are.”

  The world blurred around them as Booker moved with a speed far greater than the almost leisurely stroll that they’d been on thus far.

  When they came to a stop -his heart pounding inside his chest- they stood in the opening of an alleyway with a group of figures in front of them. Three men surround a frightened woman backed against a wall.

  Booker deposited him on the ground and took a step back, both hands behind his back.

  He glanced between the Demon and the men, unsure of what was happening. “W-why are we here?” He asked as quietly as he could.

  Booker simply stared at him, watching with a grin. One that promptly reminded him that, (He said we’re ‘hunting’ for ‘acceptable prey’...)

  Malcolm’s heart stilled, eyes snapping to the frightened woman with nothing but dread.

  A clawed hand gripped the top of his head and slowly turned it towards the men.

  He shouldn’t have been relieved, not under the current circumstances, but knowing the Demon beside him didn’t want him to hurt some poor woman already having the worst day of her life but rather the three men was relieving in some twisted way. (At least… at least… they deserve it…)

  It wasn’t how he should be looking at it, but… it was the only comfort he’d find in this situation.

  “What… what do you want me to do?” He asked the Demon.

  The fanged rabbit with blood red eyes merely smiled at him. “Whatever you want.”

  “Whatever I want?” He repeated in confusion.

  The Demon nodded, before gesturing to the empty street leading back to the arcade. “If you wish to leave, then we shall.”

  “What?” He blinked, mouth dry as he tried to understand.

  Booker watched him for a moment, the sobbing of the woman and the sickening laughter of the men pawing at her clothes the only sound during that moment. “Whatever happens next, is your choice, my boy.”

  “W-what?” He frowned, still not getting it as his eyes darted between the Demon and the nightmare before them.

  Unblinking blood red eyes simply stared, watching and waiting as the Demon refused to elaborate any further.

  The sound of tearing fabric drew Malcolm’s eyes back to the alley and-

  Wide and frightened eyes

  -Much like a previous nightmare two years prior, he moved without really thinking, something inside him demanding that he stop the monster.

  The first man wasn’t expecting a teenager to crash into him with enough force to send them both skidding across the ground. (Nor was anyone else, not really.)

  It was this surprise that gave Malcolm -in a panicked state of mind- the opportunity to sit up, make a fist, and smash it into the man with as much desperate force as he could muster, bouncing the older man’s skull off the pavement.

  He managed to get off two more such blows before the man’s friends managed to rally themselves and rush him.

  The blow he took was far more expected by everyone, the fact that he managed to roll with the punch and return one of his own was less so. (For everyone other than the madly grinning Demon who taught him how to fight at least.)

  Seeing both of the men were cornering him, he turned his eyes towards the frightened and stunned woman and yelled, “Run!” just before a pair of hands wrapped around his throat and pinned him to the ground.

  The woman blinked before finally coming to her senses and running in the opposite direction (not noticing the large rabbit man who had stepped just out of sight).

  “Shit!” One of the men cursed.

  “Go! I can handle this brat!” The other shouted as darkness began to creep along the edges of Malcolm’s vision.

  His teeth ground as he fought against the hands at his throat, blurry eyes catching sight of the other man. (No!)

  Something inside of him twisted -a ice pick through his skull- instinct taking over as his hand shot out, thin strings of light flowing from his fingers and wrapping around the monster chasing the woman.

  “The fuck?!” The monster cried as it toppled to the ground, unable to resist the force as Malcolm made a fist pulling the strings of magic tight.

  The other monster stared at him with wide terrified eyes. “What kind of freak are you?”

  He wished he could say he said something witty or badass, but with the throbbing ache of needles dancing along his brain and the fact that the monster’s fright had him letting go of Malcolm’s neck… He was just thankful he could breathe.

  It was as the darkness at the edge of his vision began to fade that he noticed a white furred hand slip around and grip the monster’s jaw, a second grasping the top of the monster’s head before a sickening cracking sound filled the air.

  The monster’s corpse was tossed aside by the Demon, before the rabbit man turned blood red eyes and a fanged grin upon him. “Jolly good show, my boy!”

  He didn’t say (couldn’t think of) anything, his eyes slowly drifting to the frightened frozen face of the dead mon-man next to him. (Another corpse he was responsible for.)

  “Still a bit rough around the edges, but oh, you did far better than I did at your age.” The Demon chuckled with a shake of his head, before noticing the blank look on Malcolm’s face.

  “Come now, child.” The rabbit man sighed, crouching before him. “You saved that poor woman, and stopped these reprobates from hurting her. You should be proud!” The Demon reached out and pinched Malcolm’s cheeks before lifting them up. “Come on… Smile like you mean it, you’re a hero, my boy!”

  Amnesia, A Secret or Not?