Chaotic Clusterfuck 32 (Patreon)

Commissioned by Definitely Not Dio

Chaotic Clusterfuck

Chapter 32

-VB-

So.

A business needed some kind of license to hire parahuman bodyguards. 

I decided to ignore it completely. Aside from the fact that I can literally slit the throats of every politicians from ass-end of nowhere Maine to the very heart of Democratic stronghold (literally and figuratively) in SoCal with ajins who have no counter in this world, who the fuck in the city was going to be going against me for something everyone does? 

Oh, they could try, but next time they try any bullshit, I was going to bullshit them harder. 

In the mean time…

“...” I looked Miss Militia in the eyes as I waited for the Internal Revenue Service agent of the IRS’s Parahuman Division to count out the bills on the table next to us while one of my parahuman “employees” watched the counter. Never mind a dozen ajins in the room waiting my orders. 

There was a reason why Miss PRT mascot was here. Since the PRT couldn’t get my eezo, they decided to squeeze me in other ways.

Namely, making sure that I wasn’t tax evading.

And I decided to spit right in their face by asking an IRS agent to come and check out the receipt of sale and the cash I wanted to give as my tax. 

The IRS agent, who the PRT checked out and I had recordings of, finished the latest stack of bills before moving onto the next. His daft fingers flicked through the bills at an astonishing rate, and he verbally, if quietly, kept track of everything he’s counted so far. 

… Was there a Gamer class called accountant or something? Because I’d believe it after seeing him in action. If not, then the PRT and the IRS definitely chose to bring a field expert to scrutinize me. 

“Is your branch still trying to find a way to sue me?” I asked Miss Militia, who blinked. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking behind her half-covered face. I already had ajins inside and spying on the PRT and the Protectorate, though. I didn’t need any verbal confirmation from her, because I already knew a few things. 

Her reaction, though, was what I was looking for. 

Because unlike her great poker face, her power wasn’t so calm and unreactive. 

I noticed how the weapons changed a couple of times between multiple models of knives before settling back into being a bayonet knife, which was what she kept it as most of the time. 

… Okay, so, what just happened to her weapon projection told me absolutely nothing. 

But I knew that the Piggot intended to find some way or another to sue me. She was just waiting for anything to drop into her lap to get the ball rolling. Her deputy, on the other hand, didn’t want to keep pushing the envelope with me. He understood not just instinctually but also comprehended intellectually that challenging me didn’t just involve laws but also contacts and connections that the PRT ENE and the wider PRT did not know of. If they did, then they would have known where those fifty something parahumans came from, no? 

Fifty capes was the half of the Big Apple’s cape population. It was more than both Boston and Brockton Bay combined. Even if the average combat capability of those fifty was on par with Brockton Bay’s criminal capes, then there was not a single path to victory for PRT ENE should actual hostilities break out. 

Or as one of my ajins overheard him complaining to his son-in-law while advising him to leave the city, “They already proved they were as effective as our branch’s heroes, so there is no way that we will come out on top. But that stubborn mule won’t let it go, so the chance for future hostility is extremely high…”

Renick should have been the director, not Piggot. Her passive aggressive policies against capes were causing problems.

Actually, I had half a mind to use the funds I acquired from eezo sale to fund politicians because of her. PRT may have a lot of leeways, but if enough people and politicians got together to complain, then even they would have to change. 

But the pride and wrath of humans tended to defy expectations. Would Piggot back off? Would the heroes stand still as they watch one of their own get attacked politically? 

“I am done counting,” the agent, a Mister Hajjikfreyr, spoke up as he fixed his rectangular glasses. “There are three hundred thirty-seven dollars and fifteen cents more in this pile than you are required to give as per the tax regulations and policies concerning you. Is this fine with you?” he asked me.

I shrugged as I looked at him. “Yeah, I’m fine with that. My time is worth more than the time needed to sort out the chump change.”

 “... Very well,” he said before looking to one of the PRT officers in the room. “Can you please find more suitcases and contact the local IRS office?”

“S-sure,” the PRT agent muttered as he walked out of the room shortly after.

I grinned at Miss Militia. She didn’t show any reaction or emotion. 

But her weapon projection did shift through a number of combat knife models before calming down.

“It’s really petty of the local PRT branch to to go so far,” I hummed conversationally. “Really, going out of your way to get another government agency’s help, bringing capes in threateningly, and then demanding that I pay my taxes here and now. This, by the way, will be put up on my youtube channel, by the way. ‘PRT comes in to demand taxes from you! No, Really!’ or something clickbaity like that,” I chuckled. “I wonder what the rest of the nation will think when they see the PRT acting beyond their roles. Oh, and I have the part where both of you confirmed that it was the PRT that got the IRS involved, not the other way around.”

Miss Militia finally showed me some reaction with her eyes widening. 

“Too bad that we’re not inside the PRT headquarters where you can force me to give up my belongings, huh?” I asked sardonically. “Otherwise, you would have taken my phone and recordings under the guise of preventing intel leak or something.” I schooled my features now. “Your business is done by the way. Get the fuck off my property.”

-VB-

While I was sweeping the PRT and the IRS agents out of my business properties, my crafting clones deeper inside the compound - and underneath it, actually - worked their ass off to understand how we could get eezo to work. 

The one that I was most interested in was the flight modules. An easy way in and out of the atmosphere was a good start.

Elsewhere, my clones crossing the Atlantic Ocean landed on New Guiana. New Guiana was one part of South America that survived the First Impact’s world wide land sinks*. My clones landed there to refuel and because there was no straight path from Brockton Bay to Africa; the Western Dark Continent sat snuggly between European Archipelago, Americas, and Africa.

Their mission to land on Africa and steal as many Batarian tech as they could (steal an entire ship if they can) hadn’t begun yet and wouldn’t until they land on Africa, but New Guiana was a good stopping point to see if there were any local Batarian outposts. 

Because, hey, if they didn’t need to go all the way to Africa to get a spaceship, then that’s great, right? In the mean time…

“Fucking pirates,” one of the clones grumbled as we saw a funky-looking wooden ship with propellers charging toward the clones’ position. They prepared to fight.

-VB-

A/N:

First Impact: geological changes. Second Impact: powers started popping up. For more detail, read chapter 1.

So if any of you are getting confused by why I keep changing between the I, we, and they for the clones, think of it this way. If “I” is used as subject, then it is happening to Alan Marris the Guy. If “we” is used, then Alan is involved with the clones. But if “they” is used, then Alan isn’t involved. 

For example, the last passage has “we saw,” and “they prepared.” 

“We” saw because Alan also gets the perspectives of the clones with my somewhat modified version of the original CYOA’s Regalia, but “they” prepared because Alan isn’t involved in the prep.

Just wrote this up because someone asked me about similar things for my clone-based stories. Hope that solves any confusion the rest of yall might also encounter.