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TODAY'S FUN FIXER FACT!
"Fixers are vigilantes of the Ring, though they earn far less than Rotary Eleven, an organization that performs similar work but in a more... professional manner. Rotary Eleven's services, however, cost a fortune even for simple tasks, so few people hire them unless they're from District 5 or higher. The ongoing conflict between Rotary Eleven and Fixers eventually led to the creation of the Viscera, a branch of Rotary Eleven specifically formed as an anti-Fixer vigilante group. I know, vigilante versus vigilante, isn't it ironic? But to be honest, the Viscera don't truly care about Fixers. At least, not all of its organs do. The Spine and Stomach, for instance, can easily be swayed by Fixers who cater to their specific interests. The Spine is a faction of hotheads who live only to fight, regardless of the victor. The Stomach, on the other hand, consists of gluttons and chefs obsessed with food. Give them a bunch of meat, and you're friends for life. I'm actually close friends with two Viscera members, one from the Spine, one from the Stomach, though I probably shouldn't tell you their names. If someone tortured you, you'd probably fold immediately and tell them all my secrets! Hahaha, only joking. The Spine member is an older man named King, a brute unstoppable by anything, not even bullets. And the Stomach member is a big fat guy named Gunther. Oh, how I miss them... If you ever see them, tell them I said hello." —Antollio Da Galinozi
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"MORI!!!"
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Roby's voice bellowed across the dining table toward Mori, who was still enjoying his cake. Everyone's heads turned to face him as he stood atop the table.
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"Now that you're here, we can go on our first mission!"
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Yuhuan lowered his glass from his lips.
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"Don't you think we could use a break? We've been training all month for this mission. I'm sure one night of celebration wouldn't hurt."
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"THAT AIN'T THE POINT!"
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Roby turned back to Mori, wagging his finger at him.
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"Mori, we're goin' on that mission right now!"
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Pallas joined in on the conversation.
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"I heard from Antollio that you just had a run-in with the leader of the Bashnya Special Division, the human manifestation of Gluttony."
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Roby's brows furrowed.
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"Yeah? So what? We made it out of her barony, so what's it to ya'?!"
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He cracked his knuckles as he spoke, his gold rings glinting in the chandelier's light. Pallas spoke again, this time smiling, a sight that silenced everyone and even erased the usual smiles from Haddler and Antollio's faces.
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"Not to fluster you, but I'm sure the mission you're going on is going to require far more talent than getting stuck in some barony. You're all 9th Division. You even needed an Elegy's help to escape from that hellscape. Look at me. I'm a 3rd Division Fixer, six divisions ahead of you."
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Valentia stood up from her seat, her hat covering her eyes.
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"Look, kid. We're not trying to be harsh or anything. We wanna make sure you guys are safe out there. I mean, I'd go with you, but I'm an Elegy, so it'd just be too eas—"
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Roby stomped his foot on the table, shaking the utensils and plates and causing them to clink and clatter. The cake's toppings toppled.
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"Bullshit!!"
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"Roby!"
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Mori stood up.
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[...]
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He didn't continue; his tongue caught in his throat. He had a sudden urge to stand up and speak, but he didn't know exactly what to say. Qiang shot him a glance from across the table, a look that reminded him of the words he needed to say. He cleared his throat.
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"...I believe we're strong enough for this mission. I don't know what happened with Roby or Yuhuan, but I think they were just outnumbered. If we fight together, we can—"
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Pallas interrupted.
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"You're 9th Division."
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Mori snapped back, this time tenser, his voice steadier.
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"But we can still work together!"
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"Even if you had fifty 9th Division Fixers, you'd need nine hundred forty-nine thousand more to equate to a single Elegy."
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Yuhuan slammed his fist down against the table, and the cake finally toppled, splattering across its surface.
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"Enough of this nonsense! I know why you're all here! You Elegies and high-ranking Fixers all hate each other, don't you?"
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Everyone went silent, expressions of guilt spreading across them. Mori questioned Yuhuan.
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"What do you mean...?"
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Yuhuan turned to Mori, unable to keep it in any longer.
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"...You're all just using Mori for Gun, aren't you? Sure, civilians hated it, but the Coalitions all wanted to use it as a weapon. It's the most powerful ARCH for a reason. If you can tame it... well..."
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Antollio stood up from his seat.
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"Very well done, Yuhuan. You did well in your investigation. All the points you brought to the table are correct, yes."
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Antollio walked his way around the table toward Yuhuan while he continued.
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"...But we aren't like the other Fixers who would just use Mori for his contract. We want to teach him to use his power, much like Qiang has been doing as of late."
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Antollio arrived near Yuhuan, standing next to the other recruits in Unit D.
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"You are all ready to take on this mission."
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The veterans all chimed in with their own refutations.
They need more training!
Friendship" isn't an excuse for the beautiful failure they'll face.
Antollio! You know this isn't right! You're being too impatient!!
Antollio only stood there with a smile on his face.
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"Argus Directorates, we are going to meet Unit D at the Sub-Train platform tomorrow morning to see them off on their mission. I expect you all to be there."
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A broad smile fell on Mori's face as the realization sank in. Antollio, the director, held him and his fellow recruits in high esteem. The warm glow of pride swelled within him, illuminating the camaraderie they had built through rigorous training. However, beneath the surface of their shared excitement, Yuhuan and Roby remained aware of the dangers that awaited them in the Ring. The weight of their responsibilities pressed heavily on their shoulders, for they understood all too well that even a minor lapse in judgment in the field could lead to dire consequences. All that was left to do was return to their rooms and get rest. It's going to be a long day tomorrow.
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Drip...
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Drip...
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Drip...
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"What time is it?"
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Henrique, the 3rd Division Fixer from the Vitalität Coalition, paced back and forth in the abandoned sewerway alongside the others. They were waiting at the meeting place designated by an unknown messenger.
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"It's twenty-one hours, seventeen minutes, and six seconds past midnight. Only a minute has passed since you last asked."
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Gieffrin, the 4th Division Null Post Fixer, snaps his pocketwatch shut after answering Henrique's inquiry. Just as the pocketwatch shuts, his katana on his side begins to glow vibrantly.
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"Yo, what's goin' on with your sword?"
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King "Smoke Shot" McGee, the Spine Thoracic member, warns Gieffrin about his sword. Gieffrin quickly takes hold of his blade, and the glow dies down.
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"It's nothing. She gets hungry."
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"Hungry, yo??"
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"Hark! What good fortune doth mine eyes behold! To stand amongst such virile Fixers, a sight most rare! But pray, tell me, good sirs, doth your hearts indeed trust the words of yon messenger, whose visage is hid from our view? Doth he not tread the path of deception, his true self cloaked in shadows? Forsooth, a face unseen doth breed suspicion in a noble breast."
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[...]
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Bethuel, a citizen of District 3, stands beside the others, amazed at their mere presence.
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"Huh. I didn't think the messenger would invite members of the Viscera, too. Let's see... We got a member of the Spine, Stomach... damn, AND the Heart? Who the hell is this guy??"
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Aristio, the solo 5th Division Fixer, leans against the sewer's mossy brick walls, gazing at the different members of the Viscera present. King only now notices that two of the six other people gathered are from the Viscera.
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"...Yo! You guys got the letter too??"
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Guy Bertillon, the Heart Valve member, turned to face King.
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"Yeah, I guess so. Initially, I was suspicious, but curiosity killed this cat."
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Naturally, everyone's gaze turned to Yisheng, the Michelin Star [III] Stomach chef, the final Viscera member present who hadn't spoken yet. He was too busy carving an apple into a rose to notice their stares. Gieffrin spoke up to get Yisheng's attention.
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"So you're a member of the Stomach, huh? I recognize those clothes."
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"...Oh, me?"
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Yisheng's dark eyes, framed by his dark hair, made him seem scarier than his voice let on.
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"Yes. I'm Yisheng, a chef from the Stomach. I have three Michelin stars!~"
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[...]
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Amid the silence, a metal door opens beside them, and a man steps out of the dark room.
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"The stars do align, and joy doth fill mine soul! At last, the hour is nigh, when from our noble host, A blessing shall descend, a grace most richly blest. Rejoice, my soul, for fortune smiles upon our coast! Our patron's favour, like the sun, shall brightly gleam, dispelling shadows, and fulfilling every dream!"
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By the time Bethuel wrapped up his speech, everyone had already entered the room. The heavy door thudded closed behind them, plunging the space into an enveloping darkness. The only source of illumination flickered softly in the distance: a solitary ceiling lamp that cast a warm glow upon a modest table at the center of the room. Upon that table lay an envelope, its maroon parchment glimmering under the light. The envelope bore an ornate insignia of a comedy mask, its features playful yet mysterious. Aristio pushed Henrique towards the table.
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"Go on. Open it."
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Henrique steadied himself at the edge of the table as he picked up the envelope. He opened it and read the contents aloud to the others.
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"Uh..."
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Dear Participants,
You've all been gathered here to revel in what you love most about this world—the emotion of Euphoria. Over the past few years, I've noticed a decline in those striving to bring happiness to this world. That all changes with the seven of you, each chosen specifically for your talents in Euphoria. You're all going to participate in a little game I've prepared called the Flavor of Euphoria. This game will only last a month, so don't slack off. Now, the official rules are as follows:
- Only the seven players chosen by me can participate.
- No substitutions, alliances with outsiders, or external interference are permitted.
- Each participant must generate Euphoria in the world through assigned tasks.
- Tasks will be delivered regularly. Do not worry, you'll know when it's me.
- Completion of tasks earns Resonance Points (RP) based on impact and authenticity.
- Each participant possesses a visible Resonance value on their left palm.
- Points are awarded based on: emotional intensity, number of people affected, and longevity of the happiness created.
- Participants may: Assist one another or sabotage others' outcomes. Direct killing is permitted, but penalized. Killing another participant transfers half of their Resonance to you, but permanently reduces your Euphoria output efficiency. In other words: The more you kill, the less capable you become of creating true happiness.
- On the final day, all remaining participants will receive one final task. The participant with the highest Resonance will be declared the new Overseer of Euphoria.
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While this is a competition, it is not one of cruelty. The purpose is not survival. It is to determine who amongst you understands Euphoria… and who is merely pretending.
My restrictions are not to lie, to avoid interference, and to only observe. All tasks are fair and depend on the stakes of the game, based on how much time remains.
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P.S. This letter was written by the will of the world that I cast into motion. Think you can crack a guess at who I am? (Whoever guesses right gets +50 bonus points!~)
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"...and that's the end of the letter."
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Henrique placed the letter back in its place on the table. Guy chuckled to himself.
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"This is a joke. This game? The talk about whoever wins becoming the next Overseer of Euphoria? I'm not falling for this."
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Aristio lit a cigarette in the darkness, illuminating his face.
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"I wouldn't be so quick to doubt this. The Overseer of Euphoria had to be one happy fella to become the Overseer. No doubt they've got some tricks up their sleeves with this, though."
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As Aristio was about to take the cigarette out of his mouth, he noticed something on his hand. It was a light, glowing rainbow gradient. When he turned his hand around, he saw the number "0". Aristio blew the smoke out of his mouth.
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"It's real, alright."
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"What do you mean?"
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Henrique asked, reaching his hand out at Aristio before noticing the light on his hand, too. Another "0". One by one, they all noticed the number, glowing on their left hands, just as the letter said. Bethuel shrieked.
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"What sorcery is this that doth afflict mine eyes? Doth this indeed spring from the Overseer's fabled bliss? Behold! My very hand, it burns with spectral light! A marvel strange, or some infernal blight?"
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Henrique glares at Bethuel before looking at his own palm, staring deep into the "0". King chuckled to himself.
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"Geh-heh..."
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Aristio turned to King, confused.
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"What's so funny?"
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"Geh-heh-heh... Oh, nothin'... Just reminded me of a joke."
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Yisheng's interest was piqued.
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"Do tell."
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"All right, all right... Why did zero start dating?
...
To find 'the one'!!"
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The entire room erupted into laughter, the sounds of slapping knees and loud guffaws echoing through it. The laughter quickly turned to realization. Guy steadied himself before he spoke.
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"So we really are the best candidates to pursue Euphoria, huh?"
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King wiped tears of joy from his eyes as he noticed the number on his palm had changed from a "0" to a "3."
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"Yo! I got three points for making you all laugh!"
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Gieffrin examined King's palm.
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"Three points for making a group of people laugh from a joke... We should continue generating Euphoria to find the most efficient way to gain points."
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Guy stepped in front of Gieffrin, stopping him in his tracks.
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"Why should we? The only prize is given to the person with the most points, and the prize itself is becoming the new Overseer of Euphoria. I've still got some unfinished business here, I'm not throwing it all away just to play god."
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Gieffrin walked past him, undeterred.
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"No one's forcing you to participate."
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As Gieffrin and the others filed out of the room, the heavy metal door clanged shut behind them, echoing through the sparse, dimly lit space. Guy was alone in the uneasy half-light, the weight of solitude settling around him like a thick blanket.
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King "Smoke Shot" McGee - 3 Points
Guy Bertillon - 0 Points
Henrique D'Souza - 0 Points
Bethuel Mac Findlaech - 0 Points
Gieffrin Melisanbeque - 0 Points
Aristio Newbeck - 0 Points
Yisheng Wu - 0 Points
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FIXER INITIATION ARC - END