Daftwager 28 Days Later, ‘What If’; Alt-World, Day 38:
07:00; For the first time in thirty-eight days, I mildly regret tying the helpless widow to a railroad track at 9:30, and and later robbing the orphanage at 10:15. Not the robbery-homicide, just the after effects.
08:00; I mean, there were benefits. In the short term, I seized the hidden theft-hoard of the orphan pickpockets and managed to skip town ahead of the constabularies concerned with the widow’s murder.
09:00; In the long-term, the pickpocket hoard afforded me the right type of lawyers to allow me to contest my inheritance, despite that it would be making money from murder. Used Pirate Pete’s legal team.
10:00; And now, residing on my multi-billion pound sterling private island, the edifice of my lordly tropical manor & underground science complex dominant in the landscape, it seems petty to detail-grumble.
11:00; Afterall, the news that the island of Britain has been overrun by a zombie army illicits mixed feelings. Death, murder, chaos, fear, terror; good things, all, but won’t someone please think of the libraries?
12:00; Plus: The death of my enemies (12 minute silence for Pirate Pete), the death of my creditors, the death of the aristocracy (which, technically puts me on the throne) and mass consumption of the Scots.
13:00; Minus: Many unique adventurers were lost that I would have liked to have invited to my new home. Particularly, ‘invited’ them to my new vivisection lab. Also, the loss of the Welsh as useful patsys.
14:00; News: “Britain is dominated by the Zombie Doctor Ingot Nation. Affirmed socialist and former medic in Her Majesty’s Regiments, Nation became king by wedding recent royal ressurect Queen Vic.”
14:30; “Nation quote, ‘Yes, not my first choice either, but a lot of queens either died old & whole or young & headless. Vic is smart, social, and wants her colonies back. I may youth-clone her later, though.'”
15:00; “Apparently, Queen Victoria was one of the first cryogenic celebrities in the Steam-Gear Ice House, and, compared to her descendants, was ‘the looker of the bunch’, post mortem, say witnesses”.
15:30; “Most of the remaining adventurers are in exile on the continent, particularly Paris, in a desperate attempt to contain Nation’s Zombie military from world infestation. Windsoar unavailable for quote.”
16:00; “King Nation of the Zombie Nation intends to institute a ‘socialist utopia’ run by a ‘post life’ elite; bare breasts off of Page 3, football off of Sundays & off with heads of Nation’s former bullies.” Nice.
17:00; If even the mighty Windsoar is having trouble beating back this plague, how can I relatively regret my minor actions? Because, for the want of a nail, I apparently could have stopped it all at the start.
18:00; One realisation in going from bachelor to billionaire is that other people might want to steal your stuff. One benefit in becoming a billionaire by theft is one knows all the tricks of the amateur trade.
18:15; Therefore when Shatterglass, gentlemen jewel thief and multi-dimensional master of mirrors, went for the merely-expensive but high-profile Eighth Ruby Eye of the Doomed Spider God, I was ready.
18:30; Shatterglass, previously a mere magical voyeur & villain spy known as Looking Glass, took a tearing of his Reflectour viewer from ultraviolent Vibright, after spying on her during an undressing session.
18:45; When sneak-peeking, ostensibly to learn her secret identity, the paranormal pervert received more than he bargained for when the Reflectour splintered into supernatural shards, into him, creating …
19:00; Shatterglass! Quantum Cat Burglar and general pain in the ass. The ‘magic mirror’ – disgustingly childish phrase – focused transient light waves and particles of ‘here’ from other relativities, other worlds.
19:15; Beautiful device, whether magic or scientific. Not only does this incompetent break it, he also uses the phenomenal phasing abilities it gives him to steal trinkets. My torturing of him is a public service.
19:30; Imprisoned by a laser grid that went up after he handled the Ruby, I trapped the troubadour and continually contricted the grid until he collapsed from the terror in his id. I love having money for toys.
19:45; Using Mr. Eidetic-based ‘Brain Overclocked : Recollection Eidetic’ serum I have keyed into the part of SG’s mind that controls his multi-dimensional movement. The electroshock is necessary & fun.
20:00; When I have topographied a telepath brain, I will do this so subtly as to leave my subject unaware. For now, I must surgically insert electrodes and up the wattage. Science’s moral sacrifice, not mine.
20:15; And there it is. I say ‘Where am I not rich?’, and a thousand realities stream past – dead, woman, crazy, charitable, magician, zombie, prisoner, idiot – and there I am in the arms of a beautiful woman.
20:30; I review his life. I can only see in realtime – relativity & such – but his writings and mine diverge increasingly from a point 38 days in the past. My Butler didn’t misdirect me, but I had him neutered also.
20:45; Least in divergence, most in my liking. He is me, all right, a variation rather than a failure. An U.N.D.E.A.D. serum in one hand, a bordello full of mad scientists in the other, he could go far. Very far …
21:00; So far in fact that I’ll keep canister of BORE logging this section of relativity. If my alter comes across cross-dimensional sneaking, or creeping, I might just have to show my alterbrother some ‘respect’.
21:15; I am entirely confident that he would do the same to me. All I must do now is manufacture a method to be invisible to my own sneaking, as my other earlier alternates almost certainly have done. Fools!
21:30; Still watching. I note the woman sleeping by his side. My hand hangs over the phone. Here she almost certainly died or was zombified. Almost certainly she never escaped my Whitby. Almost certainly.
21:45; The house mechanicals sweep security and I retire. No people; house was built, furnished and populated by mechs. They are much superior to my staff, who are no doubt gainfully employed & dead.
22:00; The mechs are the Ratman-model he advises every villain to use, but none ever do. Neither drone nor intelligent, they don’t get easily hacked, nor fall in love. I use them because I am just a bad man.
22:15; But Ratman still makes the super-stupid or super-intelligent models that lead to every villain’s downfall, because he wouldn’t sell any otherwise. He still sells them because he is just a businessman.
22:30; Balcony view. Ecology recovered from Dr. DNAdam’s giant warthogs well. DNAdam himself did not recover from the warthogs so well. Still, a private island. Best post-mortem police-auction ever.
22:45; Tagged warthogs with Atlas’ animal sidekick software. It neither suppressed their natural instincts nor overdeveloped them. They aren’t … friends, but they are quite friendly. Without calling me ‘father’.
23:00; The AnImprinter is the type Atlas recommends to every hero, and none ever use. Their sidekicks are either ‘comic’ uncanny mirrors of themselves or brutally tamed monsters – both for self-superiority.
23:15; I use the type that makes me understood to the warthogs. I have no interest in hurting them. They should not cause me to develop such an interest. I have no interest in helping them. I’m not that cruel.
23:30; I’m not going to make them less intelligent to make myself look moreso, or more intelligent (but not intelligent as I, of course!) to convince myself that the world strives to be like me. Thats a hero’s job.
23:45; Atlas still sells the desperate-Caliban and tamed-dragon imprinters. His clients never take his advice, but they always pay. It is just that the dead do little repeat business. Atlas is just a businessman.
00:00; Midnight here is morning in Paris. If she survived, if she escaped Whitby by means other than my marvellous balloon, then she is just waking. I myself go to bed, to sleep the sleep of the just a bad man.
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