Chapter 9 — Scooter
And thus begins Chapter Nine.
Now, children.
There we were.
Outside Dee Tee.
The noise behind us.
Manipal night ahead.
Maximum Anime still holding my hand.
And Nuo
following.
Of course.
The council checks protocol.
Anime Girl Protocol?
Active.
Good.
She guided me away from the pub
and toward
a scooter.
Pause.
Children.
Scooter.
Naturally.
Because apparently the night had decided walking was no longer sufficiently unpredictable.
Helmet?
The Archive does not remember one.
Maybe there was.
Maybe there wasn’t.
I certainly do not remember wearing one.
Archive law.
We do not manufacture helmets for historical respectability.
What I remember clearly is
she hopped on.
Driver seat.
Then looked back at me.
Little head gesture.
Get on.
The council looks toward Nuo.
Did you ask where you were going?
Children.
Please.
Anime Girl Protocol does not include important questions.
There is no clause saying:
Before boarding mystery vehicle, confirm destination.
No.
Maximum Anime gestures.
Nuo complies.
Ancient law.
So I climbed on behind her.
And
off.
Her driving.
Me behind.
Hands?
Initially
seat.
Children.
Clutching the scooter like the seat itself had personally promised not to let me become road decoration.
Because another problem had appeared.
Her waist.
The council pauses.
What about it?
Can hold?
Probably.
Should hold?
Unknown.
Children.
There had been
let us review
grinding.
Hand holding.
Dance floor abduction.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Continued hand holding.
Scooter invitation.
There were enough signals present that a normal human might reasonably conclude:
Yes, you can probably hold her waist while riding pillion.
Story Nuo?
Still uncertain.
Because Story Nuo had many flaws.
Many.
But one principle remained surprisingly functional.
Consent.
The council nods.
A woman having her ass against you in a pub does not automatically mean every future physical action is approved.
Exactly.
Children.
Different action.
Different moment.
New uncertainty.
And Nuo did not enjoy assuming.
So?
Seat.
Grip.
Pray.
We launched into Manipal.
Maximum Anime driving.
Nuo attempting to remain attached through friction and optimism.
The council looks at the road.
Destination?
No fucking clue.
We drove.
And drove.
At first,
still within territory my brain vaguely understood.
Roads.
Lights.
Student buildings.
The familiar shape of Manipal.
Then
less familiar.
Then
children
outside the section of my mental map labelled:
PUBS I KNOW.
The council grows interested.
That was most of your map?
A significant portion.
Yes.
Story Nuo’s internal geography of Manipal was not built by cartographers.
It was built by relevance.
College.
House.
Food.
Pub.
Weed.
Friends.
Repeat.
If a road did not contribute to one of these categories,
it possessed limited archival importance.
So when Maximum Anime drove farther
I had no clue.
Possibility One.
Apartment.
The council smiles.
Ah.
Bonk hypothesis.
Yes.
Children.
Still alive.
Very alive.
Let’s not pretend I was sitting there thinking solely about cartography.
An extremely attractive woman had just pulled me out of Dee Tee
and put me on the back of her scooter.
Apartment?
Reasonable.
Maybe we were going to hers.
Maybe a friend’s.
Maybe some other private location.
Bonk probability?
Unknown.
But non zero.
And then
Possibility Two.
Organ harvesting.
The council sighs.
Still?
Children.
Of course still.
Mystery woman.
Unknown destination.
Leaving populated pub zone.
Driving farther into unfamiliar territory.
The organ theory had gained
if anything
additional narrative support.
Not factual support.
Narrative support.
Important distinction.
In my head?
One of these two futures existed.
Option A:
Bonk.
Option B:
Wake up missing kidney.
The council points out there are thousands of possible outcomes between those.
Story Nuo did not care.
Binary system.
Sex or surgery.
Simple.
So we continued.
Her hair ahead of me
black.
White.
Black.
White.
Moving in the wind.
Children.
Maximum Anime.
The visual did not help my decision making.
At all.
If anything,
it confirmed that whatever happened next
I was probably following.
The council reviews Anime Girl Protocol.
No amendments.
Correct.
And eventually
gravity.
Inertia.
Turns.
Scooters perform this strange trick where they remind the pillion rider
that the laws of physics remain active
even during possible bonk quests.
There were moments where holding the seat stopped feeling sufficient.
So
waist.
Briefly.
The council watches.
Hand around stomach.
Stabilize.
Then
release.
Immediately.
Children.
This became a recurring little loop.
Turn.
Physics says:
Hold human or die stupidly.
Nuo:
Waist.
Stable again.
Nuo:
RELEASE.
Maximum Anime?
Completely comfortable.
No flinch.
No objection.
No:
Why are you touching me?
Nothing.
Which, retrospectively,
was probably enough evidence that I could have simply kept my hands around her waist like a normal pillion passenger.
Story Nuo?
No.
The system remained:
Emergency Waist Protocol only.
The council laughs.
Grip.
Release.
Grip.
Release.
Yes.
Like I was trying to maintain both balance
and a highly technical treaty.
Then
eventually
my curiosity overcame the protocol.
I asked her a question.
The council leans forward.
Finally.
What did you ask?
Children.
“What?”
Pause.
The council stares.
What?
What.
That was the question.
Not:
Where are we going?
Not:
What is this place?
Not:
What exactly do you intend to do with Nuo once we arrive?
No.
One word.
“What?”
The council looks at the published author.
A man of language.
Yes.
Children.
Published author.
Writer.
Manipulator of prose.
Supposed professional user of words.
And under pressure?
“What?”
Beautiful.
The English language contains thousands upon thousands of words.
Nuo selected one.
And expected her to infer the remaining sentence through context.
Somehow
she did.
Maximum Anime responded.
“We’re going somewhere special.”
Pause.
The council immediately opens semantic analysis.
Special.
Children.
Broad category.
Very broad.
Her apartment?
Special.
A secret viewpoint?
Special.
A party?
Special.
A hidden beach?
Special.
A friend’s house?
Special.
An underground laboratory with refrigerated organ storage?
Also
special.
The council refuses the last definition.
Technically accurate.
“Special” reduced uncertainty by approximately
zero.
But Story Nuo accepted it.
Because what else was I going to do?
Ask a follow up?
Children.
Please.
We had already exhausted the language department.
So I remained behind her.
Scooter moving.
Roads becoming increasingly useless to my internal map.
Occasionally waist.
Immediately release.
Hair moving in front of me.
And the sentence sitting in my head.
Somewhere special.
Now.
Present Nuo?
Knows more.
Of course.
Children.
The shit show has already been excavated.
I know what sort of chapter this road was taking me toward.
Story Nuo?
Nothing.
Possibilities only.
That distinction matters.
Because hindsight makes roads look obvious.
You know where they terminate,
so every turn starts feeling like evidence.
Story Nuo did not have that luxury.
He had
a woman he thought was Japanese,
anime hair,
a scooter,
an unknown destination,
and a mild conviction that his organs might soon enter the international logistics network.
The council nods.
Accurate mental state.
Good.
And still
I did not ask to turn back.
Obviously.
Children.
Even if the organ hypothesis had been given,
say,
thirty percent probability
Maximum Anime.
The council sighs.
Anime Girl Protocol.
Ancient law.
Exactly.
Also,
let us not pretend curiosity wasn’t doing heavy lifting.
Where are we going?
What does she want?
Why me?
What exactly counts as “special”?
Children.
Mystery itself is bait.
And Nuo?
Crow brain.
Wandering brain.
If the universe opens a weird door,
I tend to stick my head through it.
Sometimes the door contains enlightenment.
Sometimes mushrooms.
Sometimes prostitutes.
Sometimes cattle.
Tonight?
Unknown.
So
continue.
Road.
Scooter.
Night air.
Manipal stretching outward.
Dee Tee getting farther behind us.
Mith
left there with his own successful side quest.
The council remembers him.
Should Nuo have told him where he was going?
Did not know where I was going.
Fair.
Should you have told him you were leaving?
He saw me leave.
Fair.
Should you have exchanged some form of
Children.
Do not introduce modern safety administration into Story Nuo.
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
He looked proud.
That was communication.
The council gives up.
Good.
We drove longer.
How long?
Archive does not reliably know.
Long enough for me to realize we were not simply crossing the street to a nearby apartment.
Long enough for familiar pub geography to disappear.
Long enough for “somewhere special” to become increasingly loaded.
And then
slowing.
The council looks ahead.
Arrival?
Yes.
Eventually.
Scooter eased down.
We reached
somewhere.
Children.
Where exactly?
Story Nuo:
No clue.
Present Nuo:
Context acquired.
But this chapter belongs to Story Nuo.
So for now
somewhere.
A place.
Not Dee Tee.
Not my home.
Not any landmark useful enough that drunken Nuo immediately recognized it.
Just
destination.
Maximum Anime stopped.
Turned enough to address me.
And said
“We’re here.”
Pause.
The council waits.
Then?
“Hop off.”
Children.
Command received.
Anime Girl Protocol.
Ancient law.
I hopped off.
No discussion.
No:
Could you tell me where “here” is?
No.
No:
Should I notify my next of kin?
No.
Feet on ground.
Scooter behind us.
Maximum Anime nearby.
The unknown place ahead.
And Story Nuo’s options remained beautifully simple.
Bonk?
Possible.
Organ harvesting?
Also possible.
Some completely unrelated third outcome that my brain had failed to imagine?
Statistically
almost certainly.
The council nods.
And that,
children,
is usually where the trouble lives.
Not in the possibilities you predicted.
In the one you didn’t.
But Story Nuo did not know that.
Story Nuo merely stepped off the scooter,
looked around,
and awaited further instructions.
Because remember
Maximum Anime had now successfully issued:
Come dance.
Let’s get out of here.
Get on scooter.
We’re going somewhere special.
Hop off.
And Nuo’s response to every single one had essentially been
Yes ma’am.
The council laughs.
Free bird?
Children.
Anime Girl Protocol supersedes free will.
Temporary suspension.
Entirely voluntary.
Extremely enthusiastic.
I stood there.
Whatever buzz remained from the Old Monk still warm enough to soften the edges.
Night.
Unknown location.
Dual tone hair.
Mystery.
And
the shit show still waiting to reveal its shape.
Children.
The first domino had fallen at Dee Tee.
This?
The second.
We had left the known map.
Not metaphorically.
Actually.
Story Nuo no longer knew where he was.
And unlike Kasol,
Rishikesh,
Kapu,
or any of the other roads where being lost meant wandering through geography
this time I had a guide.
A very attractive guide.
Which somehow made the situation less informative.
Because she knew exactly where we were going.
I knew absolutely nothing.
And I followed anyway.
The council looks at the title card.
Somewhere special.
Yes.
Those were the only coordinates I had.
And apparently
they were enough.
Thus concludes Chapter Nine.
The Exit From Dee Tee.
The Continued Hand Holding.
The Scooter.
The Unremembered Helmet Situation.
The Head Gesture.
The Immediate Compliance.
The Seat Gripping Survival Method.
The Ancient Question:
Can I Hold Her Waist?
The Emergency Waist Protocol.
The Departure From Known Pub Geography.
The Apartment Hypothesis.
The Organ Harvesting Hypothesis.
Bonk Or Surgery.
The Continued Maximum Anime Weakness.
The One Word Question.
“What?”
The Published Author.
The Woman Who Somehow Understood Him Anyway.
“We’re Going Somewhere Special.”
The Catastrophically Broad Definition Of Special.
The Continued Drive.
The Increasing Mystery.
Present Nuo Knowing More.
Story Nuo Knowing Nothing.
The Arrival.
“We’re Here.”
“Hop Off.”
And
Anime Girl Protocol.
Children.
I had followed a stranger out of Dee Tee,
climbed onto her scooter,
travelled to an unknown location,
and learned absolutely nothing except that our destination was
special.
Then she told me to get off.
So I got off.
Maximum Anime had spoken.
And somewhere ahead of us,
the absolute fucking shit show
was waiting.
