Chapter 8 — Possibilities
And thus begins Chapter Eight.
Now, children.
There I stood.
On the dance floor.
Attempting desperately
not to disappoint whatever collection of gods,
minor deities,
statistical anomalies,
or administrative errors
had arranged this exact sequence of events.
Because before me stood
children
a magnificent specimen of aesthetic engineering.
Story Nuo’s current knowledge:
Asian looking.
Confident.
Flexible.
Can dance.
Possibly mistook me for someone else.
The council checks file.
That’s it?
That was it.
And frankly,
those facts were already consuming most available processing power.
Then
new information.
Hair.
The council looks closer.
Black.
Yes.
Except
white.
Pause.
Then black again.
Then
white.
Children.
My vision was not operating under laboratory conditions.
Dee Tee lighting?
Terrible.
Alcohol buzz?
Active.
Smoke?
Everywhere.
So naturally,
the first explanation was:
Nuo eyes malfunctioning.
I squinted.
Children.
Scientific method.
Look harder.
And
no.
The hair was actually doing that.
Black.
White.
Split.
Dual tone.
The council gasps.
Anime hair.
Exactly.
Children.
Anime hair.
Not:
Her hair looked vaguely unusual under club lighting.
No.
Two tone.
Black and white.
A visual design choice normally reserved for characters who possess tragic backstories
and at least one supernatural ability.
And suddenly
the situation became much worse.
Or better.
Depending on whether you value Nuo retaining independent decision making ability.
The council remembers something.
Kazhakootam.
Yes.
Children.
A Wandering that happens roughly a decade later in actual chronology
but entered the Archive before this one.
Green Hair.
Anime looking woman.
And what did we learn there?
Anime Girl Protocol.
Anime looking girl tells Nuo something?
Nuo complies.
Not because this is wise.
Not because the universe has issued formal instructions.
Simply because some ancient section of my brain goes:
Anime girl.
Understood.
The council checks whether this weakness existed here too.
Apparently
yes.
And this woman?
Children.
Maximum settings.
Not merely anime hair.
Story Nuo had already classified her as
Japanese.
Actual nationality?
Still unknown.
Could easily have been from Northeast India.
Could have been from somewhere else entirely.
But inside the extremely unreliable Nuo Identification Department?
Japanese.
Therefore:
Japanese.
Dual tone anime hair.
Excellent dancer.
Flexible enough to make joints appear optional.
The council totals the score.
Maximum Anime.
Exactly.
Children.
This was no longer simply a woman.
This was a critical hit against Nuo’s operating system.
And for a brief moment
disconnect.
Not physically.
I remained standing.
Important.
I was still attempting to maintain enough movement that she would not realize she had accidentally dragged furniture onto the dance floor.
Externally?
Nuo shaped organism.
Occasional motion.
Internally?
Rebooting.
The council hears startup noise.
Please wait.
Loading.
WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?
Loading.
JAPANESE?
Loading.
HAIR?
Loading.
ASS?
System unavailable.
Children.
Eventually
reboot successful.
I looked again.
Perhaps the universe would have corrected itself.
Perhaps she would be gone.
Perhaps I had imagined the entire thing.
No.
Still there.
Japanese Anime Woman.
Dancing.
In front of me.
Moving in ways that seemed more appropriate for circus acrobats
than university pubs.
Every now and then
close.
Very close.
Then away again.
Hair moving.
Black.
White.
Black.
White.
And most concerning of all
eye contact.
Children.
Repeated.
Intentional looking.
And
smile.
Not incidental smile.
Not:
I am dancing and smiling generally at the world.
She looked at me.
Smiled.
Held it.
Then continued.
The council raises an eyebrow.
Meaning?
Unknown.
Exactly.
Do not become optimistic too quickly.
Story Nuo had survived long enough to know there were several explanations more plausible than:
This extremely attractive woman has voluntarily selected me.
So my brain began generating alternatives.
Possibility One.
The default.
Organ harvesting.
The council sighs.
Of course.
Children.
Whenever circumstances become suspiciously favourable,
this remains one of my preferred explanations.
Too attractive?
Organ harvesting.
Too friendly?
Organs.
Invites you somewhere?
Kidneys already listed online.
Simple.
Now.
If one applies even moderate thought to this theory
terrible business model.
Because look at the merchandise.
Children.
Asthmatic.
Cigarette smoker.
Pot enthusiast.
Alcohol consumer.
Occasional recreational LSD.
MDMA.
Mushrooms.
Ecstasy.
And whatever unidentified chemical compounds had entered my bloodstream over the years because some stranger handed me a pill and Story Nuo apparently possessed the survival instincts of decorative moss.
The council inspects organs.
Premium?
Absolutely not.
You do not track Nuo across a dance floor
to acquire pristine inventory.
Children.
My lungs probably arrived pre smoked.
The liver had workplace grievances.
The kidneys had seen things.
Yet
organ harvesting remained the default hypothesis.
Because anxiety does not require a good business plan.
Possibility Two.
Dare.
Children.
Much more plausible.
Somewhere nearby perhaps a group of friends had pointed at the strange hoodie creature against the wall and said:
Bet you can’t seduce that one.
And she
competitive.
Accepted.
This made sense.
I was visually unusual enough to qualify as challenge content.
The council nods.
Possible.
Possibility Three.
Gold digger.
Pause.
The council looks at Nuo.
Based on what evidence?
None.
But children
imagine her perspective.
Sleep deprived.
Hoodie.
Messy hair.
Muffin adjacent.
Standing alone smoking like a man who had misplaced both employment and direction.
Perhaps
rich eccentric.
Maybe I looked like the spoiled son of somebody important.
Maybe she thought:
This man clearly dresses badly because money has made consequences irrelevant.
The council examines bank account.
Tragic miscalculation.
Yes.
But plausible from a distance.
Story Nuo had enough theories now.
Organ harvesting.
Dare.
Gold digger.
Mistaken identity still hovering somewhere in reserve.
And noticeably absent from the list?
She likes me.
Correct.
Children.
That possibility remained so statistically offensive
that the brain refused to promote it.
So there I stood.
Attempting dance.
Mostly failing.
Contemplating criminal enterprise
and financial fraud.
While she continued moving around me.
And then
she leaned closer.
The council goes quiet.
Very close.
Mouth near ear.
Because Dee Tee required this.
You could not speak normally in that place.
Every conversation either involved shouting
or temporary intimacy.
She leaned in.
Asian accent.
And said
“Let’s get out of here.”
Pause.
The council freezes.
Children.
There are sentences.
And then there are sentences that completely replace the operating system.
Let’s get out of here.
Not:
What’s your name?
Not:
Where are you from?
Not:
Do you come here often?
Straight to
exit.
The council checks Story Nuo.
Understanding?
None.
Compliance?
Immediate.
Obviously.
Anime Girl Protocol.
Ancient law.
Anime girl says:
Let’s get out of here.
What do we do?
Get out of here.
Children.
This is jurisprudence older than civilization.
No appeals court.
No constitutional challenge.
She took my hand again.
And began guiding me.
Away from the dance floor.
Through the crowd.
Toward the exit.
Nuo following.
Because apparently my evening had moved beyond personal agency.
The council looks concerned.
You could have said no.
Of course.
I simply had absolutely no interest in doing so.
Important distinction.
Children.
As she led me out,
one functional piece of my brain remembered
Mith.
Right.
Brother.
Potential bonk partner acquired.
Still somewhere inside.
So I looked across Dee Tee.
And
there he was.
Already looking at me.
Pause.
The council smiles.
Oh no.
Children.
Mith’s face.
Proud.
So proud.
And from his perspective?
Reasonable.
He had entered Dee Tee with no idea what he was doing.
I had taught him.
Lake.
Fisherman.
Bait.
Bongo.
He applied lessons.
Succeeded.
Woman on lap.
Graduation.
Then
fifteen minutes later perhaps
Professor Nuo himself
is being escorted toward the exit
by an extremely attractive
dual tone haired
Story Nuo classified Japanese woman
holding his hand.
Children.
Imagine the conclusion.
This man is a fucking wizard.
The council laughs.
Mith must have thought every stupid thing I told him was backed by enormous field experience.
Nuo:
Observe, student.
Mith:
Yes, master.
Nuo:
Now watch as I acquire Maximum Anime.
Children.
Nothing could have been farther from reality.
There had been no bait.
No Bongo.
No technique.
No clever opening.
I had literally stood against a wall
and looked at her like a person admiring a car.
She approached me.
She danced on me.
She took my hand.
She invited me out.
If anything,
my strategy was
exist.
The council checks reproducibility.
Zero.
Exactly.
Gift from the gods.
Random loot drop.
Statistical anomaly.
Mith did not know that.
All he saw was Professor Nuo leaving the building with the final boss.
And the proud expression on his face said:
My teacher practices what he preaches.
Children.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Because this could cause Mith to dramatically overestimate my game for years.
But there was no time to correct the record.
I was being guided out.
Hand in hand.
Maximum Anime leading.
Nuo following.
The doors approaching.
And inside my head?
Still
organs.
The council sighs.
You genuinely thought
Children.
Not necessarily believed.
But entertained.
Strongly.
Because what exactly was I supposed to conclude?
A woman I had categorized as completely out of my league
had appeared,
danced on me,
dragged me onto the floor,
made deliberate eye contact,
smiled,
then whispered:
Let’s get out of here.
Either
I had become dramatically more attractive in the previous twelve minutes,
or some secondary objective existed.
The council checks anatomy.
Kidneys?
Potentially endangered.
Exactly.
So we exited Dee Tee.
Noise dulling behind us.
Outside air.
Night.
Her hand still holding mine.
And children
I followed.
Fully aware that one possible future contained bonk.
Another contained confusion.
Another contained some elaborate prank.
And somewhere in the collection of stupid possibilities
my organs separating from my body
and being shipped internationally.
Possibly Japan.
The council asks how shipping would work.
Do not ruin the theory with logistics.
Now.
Was I going to turn back because of this suspicion?
Please.
Maximum Anime was holding my hand.
Story Nuo had priorities.
Risk assessment?
Minimal.
Curiosity?
High.
Bonk possibility?
Non zero.
Anime Girl Protocol?
Absolute.
The council stamps:
FOLLOW.
And so
follow.
Children.
This is the exact point where the evening stopped behaving like a Dee Tee night.
Everything until now had remained within Manipal’s known ecosystem.
Friends.
Weed.
Dota.
Rum.
Dance floor.
Flirting.
Potential bonk partners.
Normal.
Then this woman appeared.
And now
I was leaving the pub
without knowing her name,
without knowing where we were going,
without knowing why she had chosen me,
and with several active theories involving crime.
The council looks ahead.
The shit show?
Approaching.
Yes.
Children.
Remember Chapter Two?
I called what followed
an absolute fucking shit show.
Until now,
you may have wondered why.
Nothing particularly catastrophic had happened.
Mith succeeded.
I received unexpected attention.
Everything appeared
excellent.
That is how dominoes work.
The first one rarely looks dangerous.
It simply falls.
Then touches the next.
And the next.
And the next.
I looked once more back toward Dee Tee.
Mith.
Proud.
Potential bonk partner still near him.
My student believing his professor was a legend.
Then
forward.
Dual tone hair.
Hand holding mine.
Unknown destination.
The council checks Story Nuo’s final thought.
Organs?
Organs.
Good.
She led.
I followed.
Maximum Anime Protocol engaged.
And children
the shit show began.
Thus concludes Chapter Eight.
The Attempt To Avoid Disappointing The Gods.
The Magnificent Specimen Of Aesthetic Engineering.
The New Factoid.
Black Hair.
White Hair.
The Squint.
Dual Tone.
Anime Hair.
The Kazhakootam Precedent From A Decade Yet To Come.
Anime Girl Protocol.
Maximum Anime.
The Internal Reboot.
The Acrobatic Dancing.
The Eye Contact.
The Intentional Smile.
The Refusal To Believe She Simply Chose Nuo.
Possibility One:
Organ Harvesting.
The Extremely Questionable Quality Of Nuo’s Available Organs.
Possibility Two:
A Dare.
Possibility Three:
Gold Digger With Catastrophically Bad Financial Intelligence.
The Whisper.
“Let’s Get Out Of Here.”
The Immediate Activation Of Ancient Law.
The Hand.
The Exit.
The Look Toward Mith.
Mith Looking Back.
The Pride.
The Completely Incorrect Assumption That Nuo Had Game.
The Reality:
Nuo Had Done Absolutely Fucking Nothing.
The Gift From The Gods.
The Departure From Dee Tee.
The Continuing Organ Theory.
And
The Beginning Of The Shit Show.
Children.
Mith had spent the evening learning how to approach women.
I had spent the evening teaching him.
Then the most attractive woman I had seen in the room
walked over,
selected me without explanation,
and led me outside by the hand.
From Mith’s perspective?
Masterclass.
From mine?
Possible international organ trafficking.
Either way
I followed.
