Chapter 53: Payback's a Bitch
From the moment he'd arrived in this world, Chris had sensed a certain malicious intent directed at him.
After learning that this unknown entity was Death, Chris had simply assumed it was because he'd been added to Death's list.
But having experienced Death's extremely emotional targeting, combined with Stewie sending him to this world, plus the verification of his hypothesis after the biker at his feet had been revived—
Chris had finally grasped the fundamental reason why Death was targeting him.
From Death's various manipulations throughout the movies, it was clear that everyone it calculated were descendants of the people Iris had saved decades ago.
In other words, this bastard had been playing cleanup for its past screw-ups all along.
From the earliest known case of Iris, spanning several decades, everyone killed by Death had been lucky survivors who'd lived due to various interventions.
They were fugitives who'd escaped the death list.
Everything Death did was to correct its mistakes.
However, because Iris had saved at least dozens of people back then, and they'd continued having children, and those descendants had then interfered with other people's lives for various reasons—
In this cascading situation, more people who should've died became death fugitives and lived normal lives.
Over several decades, just considering the ripple effect caused by Iris alone, Chris realized this was an incredibly complex and massive problem.
By the most conservative estimate, Chris figured there were at least tens of thousands of death fugitives out there.
And there'd be hundreds of thousands—maybe even millions—of people whose fates were indirectly affected by these fugitives.
"Well, shit... if being Death is a job, then buddy, you're screwed."
Chris, who felt he'd finally cracked Death's fundamental problem, gave a wicked grin, then stomped down hard. The biker he'd just revived returned to his destined path—permanently.
If it weren't for the experiment, Chris wouldn't have bothered with such a self-destructive idiot in the first place.
However, after saving him, Chris had originally planned to just leave him there and see if Death would let him live.
But then Chris had a sudden thought: his act of saving someone as an outsider increased Death's workload, which was why Death wanted to kill him.
So, if he killed someone, would it lighten Death's workload? Or would that also count as interference?
It was this thought that led Chris, acting on the principle of efficiency, to directly make the biker the subject of a second experiment.
After the guy's head exploded under his boot, Chris sensed Death's malice increase and immediately burst into hearty laughter.
"Hahaha! What's wrong? Did I just shred your carefully cooked books? Or was your meticulously prepared plan forced into the trash?"
Feeling the malice continuously growing and intensifying, Chris became even more amused.
Because the last time he'd sensed this level of hatred, a tanker truck had crashed directly into him.
But now there was no such premonition of immediate danger, which indicated that summoning meteorites wasn't without cost for Death.
At the very least, the entity would be unable to pull off another extinction-level event for a while.
After confirming this, Chris grabbed the fallen motorcycle nearby, found it still worked fine, then returned to the motel to collect his dragon blood beverages before hitting the road.
Since killing people could also cause problems for Death, Chris had no reason to save those who were meant to die.
Now, in Chris's eyes, Death in this world was just some overworked wage slave desperately trying to fix past mistakes, and he was the magnificent bastard who'd increase its workload by hundreds or thousands of times.
So, as long as Chris caused enough big, numerous problems, this diligent little worker would eventually get buried under the sheer volume of cases.
This was the method Chris had devised to screw with Death.
He didn't know if it would actually work, but it certainly didn't cost him anything, so he might as well give it a shot.
Considering that Death used the butterfly effect to create accidental deaths, Chris decided to create a butterfly effect so massive and uncontrollable that it would directly bury the entity in paperwork.
And in human society, to create such a butterfly effect, who would be more suitable than the corporate executives and financial titans who controlled the futures and destinies of millions?
Having determined his target demographic, Chris rode his motorcycle toward the nearest major city.
With a clear plan to mess with Death, Chris's mood lightened considerably, and he arrived at his destination humming classic rock all the way.
This wasn't the big city Chris had visited before, but it was a gleaming metropolis of the same caliber—all glass towers and corporate headquarters.
As soon as he arrived, Chris spotted a familiar logo.
"Well, I'll be damned! Marriott Group—and it's the headquarters building! What are the odds?"
Chris casually tossed away the newspaper he'd grabbed from the small town, which had reported on the Marriott Group's massive lawsuit against oil mogul Rockefeller.
Thinking about how the thirty-plus million he'd received had been obliterated by the meteorite before he could even enjoy spending it, Chris felt a genuine pang of loss.
Especially since he still had to pay Stewie back out of his own pocket.
If he'd blown it all having fun, fine—but the massive pile of cash had evaporated before he'd even had a chance to warm it up.
Had he known this would happen, he would've listened to that hotel manager and simply opened a damn bank account.
But dwelling on it now was pointless. Better to kill a few corporate executives and cause some serious trouble for Death.
On the top floor of the Marriott Building, an internal meeting for senior executives was underway.
"One point three billion! Those two idiots really had the balls to ask for that much! They're just a couple of regular schmucks—where the hell did they calculate such an astronomical sum from?"
"According to our investigation, the hotel manager tampered with the guest check-in records, changing all guests who'd checked in over the past two months to show they'd arrived on those two specific days."
"Hmph! Pretty clever, I'll admit. But this matter will be handled internally. As for Rockefeller, we're still demanding the full one point three billion. Even if we have to spend a billion on legal fees, we will win this case!"
Hearing the stern order from the big boss, David Marriott, CEO Anthony nodded sharply. "We'll keep it in the family. I'll arrange appropriate... exits for both of them."
"Good." David exhaled a thick cloud of cigar smoke, responding with a curt grunt.
Then Anthony pulled out a document, his expression troubled. "There's just one complication. One deceased guest's family member already received the compensation—all thirty-three million in cash—and we currently have no way to recover it."
"Deceased: Chris Griffin. Beneficiary: Stewie Griffin." The big boss David took the document and frowned deeply as he read the names.
"Are you absolutely sure this isn't insurance fraud? Aren't these the names of two characters from Family Guy? Hell, Fox tried to get me to invest in that show back in the day!"
"Uh..." The CEO rubbed his temples. He'd remembered the same thing, which was why he looked equally troubled.
If this guy named Stewie had deposited the money in a bank—any bank—he would've been confident about recovering the payout.
But he'd never expected those two greedy idiots at the hotel would let the beneficiary walk out with a duffel bag full of cash. Now, even with the Marriott Group's considerable resources, finding the guy in a short timeframe would be difficult.
And a day and a half had passed since the incident. Who knew which country the bastard was living it up in by now?
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