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>>291624

"Where are we going?!" her voice sounds faint against the rain, and your helmet doesn't help much either.

"HQ!" you respond, then almost yell. "HQ!"


Both of you finally make it. You don't try to open the main door with your heel this time. You walk across the aisle dripping wet from everywhere along with Preah, and find Bobo, Marcos, and Carlos still in the same position as before, naked except for their boxers, their backs rest on the couch, as their legs spread wide towards the ceiling, forming two "X's" as they intertwine.
All of them turn to look at you at the same time.

"Bobo, give me your helmet." Your voice sounds metallic, and heavy under yours.

"Fuck-you!" His words resonate against the walls.

"Come on asshole, just evolve for ten fucking seconds. Tell me where is it."

Bobo looks at you and sits on the couch, over his heels; the other two mimick him. His eyes widen, his mouth frowns into a small circle, and he lets his arms cling as he raises his elbows; then he does one single, blunt ape sound... OH, FOR FUCKS SAKE. Breathing fast, he looks at the black man by his side, and slaps his face with a slow, open palm, throwing him out of the couch; he squirms on the floor, doing ape sounds as well. Soon, they all are jumping everywhere, screaming like fucking apes, as Carlos pushes the tip of a banana unto your helmet, and you don't even try to move aside. You spot it, and just walk to Bobo's green helmet as they start wrestling while they scream. You lift it, and you jump as you leave because someone bited your ass cheek, drawing a faint, shrill screech from your mouth.
You just keep walking in silence, as Preah stares with her mouth open, and a banana lands in her forehead.

You find the Cross Boss in the next room, reading a magazine about ants, still with her white, cross-shaped helmet on. Then you clear your throat.

"I'm here. What do you want?"

She faces you, then pauses. Then she clears her throat as well.

"In private." She says, firmly.

You nod at her, and then glance at Preah; she nods at you. You enter the room, and close the door behind you.

"God fuck, I'm glad you picked up." you say to the Cross Boss.

"What's going on?"

"You can piece it togueter on your own."

"You want to ask me something, but you don't want the Arma to know." She pauses, again. "Is it a strap-on?"

"It's one of those things you fuckers have in your foreheads." you say, tempted to take off the helmet.

She pauses again. Every time she pauses, it's like she want's to point out she's making an expression. It's hard as fuck to read, altough. "Negro," she starts, then closes by as she stands, "where the fuck would you expect me to find that thing?"

"Do I look like an Arma?"

"You look like a brain-dead retard on steroids right now, but that's not the point." She points out, politely. "That shit is made from the same things we are. I can't just make that shit out of
steel railing and duct-tape."

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"You pull it out, you get on of those favors." You swallow, silently; it's pointless to hide it, but so is pride. "A BIG FAVOR. You don't, fuck you and enjoy your ants."

"I'd raise an eyebrow at you if I could take this crap out of my head. Cause, you are talking BIG, nigger. We aren't fucking around here."

"I don’t fuck around. I don’t even fuck.”

She pauses at you; maybe she's wondering wheter why this is worth it for you, or if you went bat-shit insane. Man, last time she had you fuck a dude! On a helicopter! Then, the Cross Boss goes back to sitting, clearing her throat again, perhaps to make a point.

"I'd do my best, then." she grabs her magazine. "What do you want it to say?"

>Write in!
>"I had an idea already."

>>304583
>"I had an idea already."
For the record i don't

>>305129

That's the MC speaking; it's his idea.

I'm kinda dizzy, so I'll resume the quest after some naps. =w=

>>305129

You close the door behind you, and pout hard under your helmet. It feels like that face Preah likes to put on when you fuck with her. Yep, that’s how it is: Cross Boss has you, again, between her invisible, gigantic steel claws of oh fucking help me.

Despairing slightly, as you walk down the aisle, you find Preah sitting between two big, black, almost naked guys, while Carlos is on the other couch. The three of them gesturing, and speaking wildly in a language you don't understand, they don't understand, and Preah more than certainly doesn't understand, either. She looks at you through all the gibberish, her eyes almost wide, as Bobo yells at Carlos "DUNGA DUNGA UH UH" while the white dude tries to smell his ass. You tilt your helmet at the exit, and Preah stands, says "sorry", and struggles with Marco's leg on her way out.

Both of you are finally walking under the savage rain; Preah wearing Bobo's helmet, her long purple hair choking under it.

"Why do they do that?" she asks, her voice coming clear from the radio, no matter how far she is.

"We like to fuck around with racism." you say, as you walk. Preah is walking over a railing next to you, balancing her body over the tin wood flawlessly. “Well, we like to fuck around in general, but that’s like our best topic.”

Preah doesn’t answer, as piercing drops of water clash against the green and black hood over your helmet. That’s a quality you really enjoy of her; she doesn’t cover her silence, she doesn’t feel silence to be awkward.

"We are grown, tired men, Preah.” You resume, looking ahead at the road; you can see the ocean from here, behind another small wooden railing, covered by fog and dim white lines. “Remember what I told you about hope?”

“Hmh.”

“What did I say?”

“That people end up looking after each other’s hopes and dreams?”

“Good girl.” You nod, then wonder if she saw you. “Sometimes… you get tired. Very fucking tired, of juggling with the landmines.”

“Landmines? Oh-wait, I remember.”

“Thing is, me and Bobo, we bowed to just do and say what we want to each other, and when someone else came to help one of us against the other we would both tell him to get the fuck out. We dealt on our own.” You realize the last railing is drawing near; it goes uphill to the left along the path, you wonder where it goes. “It was hell the first few months we met. But once we ran out of bullets, and he had told me my daughter was being ass-raped by a drug dealer because my ex ran out of cash for, like, the eleventh time in a row, we just stuck togueter.”

“I-I really don’t understand.”

"Maybe I'm going too fast. You don't like rain, right?"

"It's not that bad."

"Think you could play in it?"

"I used to try! One day, I was running too fast, and then I tripped."

"How many people died?"

"No one!" You giggle at the tone of her voice. "No one died!"

“It’s pretty hard to play if it’s raining, isn’t it? Same goes for people.” You smile at the sun struggling against the gray clouds. “People are like rain, sometimes. And for me and Bobo to play without worrying about stepping on a landmine…”

“To have fun, right?”

“Ex-fucking-xactly, sweetie. To have fun- we first had to blow all of the landmines. And to do that, we had to deal with our bullshit. Out false hopes, our insecurities, our fears, our little mental things… It was very fucking hard, but now we have a place to play in peace, sheltered from the rain, and free from the landmines.

“What about the other two boys?”

“Those are Marco and Carlos. Carlos came to replace one of our boys that got shot in the neck, and Marco got transferred from another unit because we didn’t had enough Armas to sustain so many teams, so some got melded. Both dudes turned out great.”

You both reach the railing; there’s a cliff under it, and behind it there’s the ocean, and over the ocean, dense, gray clouds reach out towards the horizon, melting themselves over the endless water, as small beams of strong light make it through the silver linings.
It looks fucking awesome. Next to you, Preah is also looking at the distance behind the helmet, leaning on the wooden railing with both hands.

You look at her hand, then swallow. God dammit, when did you turn in a 11 years old little bitch with a Power Ranger’s backpack?”

>Put your hand over hers.
>Do nothing, avoid awkwardness.

>>307661
>Do nothing, avoid awkwardness.

>>307900

You don't have the balls. Simply as that. You'd rather be shouting "RELOAD!" inside a filthy trench while everyone around is shredded to pieces, to risk looking like an idiot to Preah.
So you stare into the horizon, in silence, feeling her presence without looking at her, as the rain bounces on your helmet making one blunt sound after the other, until you find yourself thinking about anything but that sound, and the ocean.

"Then again," you resume, startling yourself slightly, "me and Bobo are pretty fucking tired of people already. We've been there, done that. It had a bright side. But someday, you will find someone you will want as a friend, and it will be important for you to choose your words carefully."

You notice how quiet she is, staring into the ocean, so wonder if she's listening to you. You pause, for a while.

"Pedro?"

"Oh sorry, I was just thinking of something else." You hurry to lie, without guilt. "You see, some-"

"What were you thinking about?"

You find yourself thinking of your daughter, even if you weren't just now.

"It's just that the Cross Boss told me to buy something for her, and I can't remember what. It'll come out later. It always does." Your back itches, but you ignore it. "Most people are fucked up, Preah. One way or the other. And sometimes it’s very tempting to just speak up your mind, to have fun, because thinking about what to say is a full-time job that nobody wants to do. Lemme see, you find a guy with a single arm, what would you tell him?”

“I’d ask him what happened to the other.”

“If you did that, you’d have the poor guy think about sad stuff like how he lost it, about the things he can’t do now, like getting a good job or… or playing videogames, for example. Maybe he has already dealt with that shit, maybe he can even laugh about how he managed to overcome his shitty life… but the polite thing to do, Preah, is to shut the f- is to not to talk about it, to threat the guy like everyone else. We all have to deal with our bullshit, and it’s our duty to ensure everyone is doing it; but some people just can’t. It’s like going to the gym, and then asking someone to bench fifty pounds on the first day. You know what a gym is?”

“Oh, I have one of those nearby. People make these weird noises all the time, it’s so funny!”

“People go to the gym to make their muscles strong, so they lift heavy things. They start with the kinda heavy things, then go for the really heavy things. Same goes with dealing with fears, traumas, bullshit; it’s a little bit everyday, with discipline. That’s why you should be careful with your words, Preah; you might be putting someone under weight too heavy for them to handle. Hey, am I talking too much? I dunno, I feel like I'm spewing a lot of bullshit around here.”

“Hurt people have to deal with their fears a little bit every day, so you don’t have to remind them of it, and that’s what filters are for. Right?”

You just grab her fucking hand, and squeeze it gently.

“Yeah. That’s how it works.”

“What if they don’t want to?”

“Then,” you clear your throat, “you bully them.”

"Uh? Why? That doesn't make any sense!"

The tone of her voice, both desperate and confused, draws a sigh of relief from you; she does give a shit about what you say. So far, you just wanted to know how it felt like to teach your daughter how to swim in the bullshit. Now, somehow, you are actually doing it.

"If someone is fat, that is bad for him, or her. It fucks up the system, it weights on the bones, and makes running a whole lot harder. Imagine if you couldn't run."

"It would fucking suck." She states, almost dryly.

"Hey, language!"

She stares at your serious, frowning face from behind the green visor, her eyes dim, and a wide grin on her face. Your cheeks puff, then you both laugh your hearts out.

"Oh, crap. Oh, god dammit, this can't be my fault."

"Too late!" she states, gingerly.

"That is, exactly, why filters are for. You can fuck around and curse around me all you want, but remember that lady by the restaurant."

"I know, I know." she says, nodding. "Some people aren't ready."

"Well, as I was saying, if you see someone fat, and you actually give a fuck about him, you bully him. Because you want to give him a reason to change, you want to remind him that he's fucked up so he doesn't remain that way. That's what bullying is for; is a grim reminder that you fucked up, to prevent you from fucking up further. Remember to bully, Preah." You grab her hand, then turn her towards you as you hold both of her hands into yours, and look at her in the eyes. "Remember to bully." you say, looking firmly at her.

She nods at you. Smiling.

>Where to?
a) Keep wandering around, the path to the right goes uphill along the railing.
b) Snack's and Trash's, since she actually had fun there, while you ate.
c)HQ, then remind Bobo that he's still a slave.
>And what to teach?
a) About dealing with the unknown.
b) About dealign with her own hopes.
c) Write in!

>>308363
>Where to?
Keep wandering around, the path to the right goes uphill along the railing.
>And what to teach?
About dealing with the unknown.

>>308854

You turn around suddenly, pointing towards the uphill path, suddenly very mindful of your steps, since water flows from above. A far away thunder draws your attention; you keep walking along the wooden railing.

"It's raining so hard...!" her voice endures through the tiny crashes.

You notice that the ground evens further in the road, and it's not long until you reach there. Across a field of unkempt grass stands a small tower in front of you, surrounded by the sight of the rest of the village, most likely a lighthouse. It's made of concrete, of a dark brown, the door having a grim look to it.

"What is that?" Preah points at the lighthouse.

"I can't be sure, but my best guess is a lighthouse. It's used mostly during the night, as a signal for passerby ships." You study it intently; it's not that tall. "It must be deserted."

"Let's go inside."

You think about it; then shrug.
The door opens with a loud, chilling sound, and you both step into the darkness, the sound of rain falters.

"Preah, always open a door as fast as you could without killing anyone on the other side. That way you don't get that damn screech."

"OK!"

"Where are we, anyway? Wait, follow me."

You open the door behind you again, and Preah follows, almost outside the tower.

"Look at me. See where I'm putting my hand? There's a small button there, it's for the night-vision mode."

Her hand wanders around her neck, doing circles.

"I can't find it."

"Let me see see." You put your hand on her neck, then find yourself doing the same she is with little success. Then you check the other side. "Fuck you, Bobo. There you go!" Preah's visor shines, and starts melting into another color, a dark blue. The same happens with yours.

"Alright, in we go." You almost shout, slightly satisfied.

Now that you can see it, the inside of the lighthouse is a mess; it reminds you of Trash's house, briefly. Nevermind, that's a bit cruel. But then again, you can see papers and broken stuff on the steps of the spiraling stairway, and there's a desk in front of you with some papers and books, and what seems like the parts of a disassembled helicopter toy scattered over it.

"Is there where Trash does guard duty?" says Preah, not that good yet at seeming innocent.

"Might as well, this place is a fucking mess." You walk to the stairway, and clear some of the mess with your feet. "Let's get up there, since we are here."

"It looks kinda... odd!" She's looking upwards, and soon you too, at the stairway spiraling all the way up. From here, it looks taller than it looked like form the outside. You both walk the stairs, almost rushing, and from it's peak you can see just how small the island is against the whole of the blue; there's nowhere you can't see from here.

You look to your sides, there is not a glass between you, and the strong, cold breeze. "Holy hell, when did we get so high?!" you blurt out.

"Right now!" says Preah. "It looks so small...!"

You let your sight frame all of the island; the fog is rising dimbly from below."Rain isn't going anywhere, anytime soon, though." You state.

"I picked a bad day to come, right?"

"Hey, why is it so boring? What do they have you do?"

"Watch my post." Her voice seems so fucking sad. "They hardly ever let me do anything else. Sometimes I feel they don't like me."

"You still have GOG gas." You point out, rising your finger, as she faces you. "There's no way you can't fuck around with that."

"I don't have GOG gas."

You raise an eyebrow. "Every Arma has GOG gas, it's like the reason you are made."

"I have GOG gas, I know. I just can't use it."

You tilt your head, as your eyes really fucking widen. "What?!"

"I... I can't use my GOG gas. At all. There's this Arma that used to come around. He says he can feel my GOG gas, lingering around... I can't. I don't feel anything."

There's no real point in calling "he" or "she" at Armas; but it's so ingrained into us that it doesn't matter.

"Then how did you take down that "They" on your own? It doesn't make any fucking sense!"

"W-well, I... I punch things. And kick things. I'm actually very good at it!"

She doesn't need to say much more. All Armas have a LOT of knowledge ingrained into their artificial subconcient, mechanical knowledge, medicine, martial arts... the later seeming like a waste, since all Armas just use their GOG gas, and it would take you a miracle to get ten feet from them without getting smashed clean against the floor.

"I'm not really an Arma." Preah goes on. "I-I never told this to anybody else. But I think they know."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not... really sure, either."

She crouchs, lets her arms rest on the border, and then her head on her arms. Then she rises, takes off the helmet, and does the same thing.

"Wanna talk about it."

She shakes her head. "I... I don't really get it. So there's no point."

So, this isn't your everyday Arma, either. GOG gas malfunction isn't a miracle of any sort, since it's a common affliction caused by psychological stress on Armas. But this one is just six years old. What happened?

>Press on; it might be for her own good.
>Leave it as it is. Maybe she already knows.

>>309127
>Leave it as it is. Maybe she already knows.

>>309263

Maybe you could help her understand her problem, but you just taught her not to delve in the shit of other people; it would be fair for you to give the example.
And you don't want her to feel forced to answer. After all, not dropping your shit on the table is, perhaps, the first aspect of being polite: because since everyone wants to believe they are good people, they would feel forced to help you.
And since everyone has their own shit to deal with, it's an attitude of hers you feel like rewarding.
Of course, believing yourself good people because you burden yourself with everyone else's shit is fucking stupid. But sometimes that belief is the only thing that holds people afloat, while they deal with their own shitstorm.

You wake up from daydreaming, to a Preah still leaning on the border, and you lean a bit further to get a look on her face; her eyes are dimming, and her eyebrows low. She doesn't notice you.

"Hey," you wave a hand in front of her; then witness her eyes slowly turning towards you, "let's get outta here, I wanna teach you a game."

Her eyes brighten. "A game?"

"Yeah! It broke my nose almost as many times as I've been to the hospital, but I'm sure you'll deal."

She then smiles at you, closing her eyes. "Sounds fun, where do we go?"

"Outta here."

It isn't long before the two of you are standing in the middle on the street, Preah now wearing Bobo's helmet. She looks at you, expectantly.

"Thing is like this. Take a GOOD look forward. Do it."

She fixes her eyes on the street; it's uneven, and there are pools of water everywhere.

"Now, close your eyes... and walk forward."

"But, I can't see a thing!"

"Do you remember the street?"

"Barely."

"Open your eyes, then, take a good luck, and try again."

"OK!"

Armas feel the world around them either by looking at it, or by feeling it with their GOG gas; as stated by your old himehorn Arma pal, for them it's like they are touching everything around them, all the time. And Preah can't use her GOG gas; this should work.

You watch her take a few steps, flinch, then open her eyes.

"I can't do it. It's hard!"

"You could decimate a They over my god damned Iva Novus. You can walk with your eyes closed."

She looks at you, producing a long, cute, agonizing puppy sound; you just stare at her, as you cross your arms.

"Fine!" She turns the helmet towards the streets, again; then walks. One step. Two steps. Three steps; she flinches, then stops. You wait without saying a word, and then there she goes, she doing it again. One step, two steps... three steps. She's gaining confidence, heading straight towards a post. You giggle, ever so slightly; you are going to let this happen.
A piercing little screech makes you shiver, as Preah bounces her head against the post. You laugh, then, like a fucking idiot, enjoying every second of it.

"Oh, crap... why..." you try to hold back the small tears of joy, with little success.

"That was so scary, why are you laughing!" You can't see her pouting behind the fog, but the sky is blue, so she is.

Your cheeks must be so red right now.

"What was the point of that?!" You hear, inside your green helmet under the hood.

"Crap, gimme a second. Just... just come here."

She starts walking.

"With your eyes closed." You clarify.

"NO!"

"Come on, do it! From where you are it should be easy, I'll catch you so you don't fall off the cliff."

Armas can't drown. "Armas can't die" you'd say, but they simply are very, very hard to kill. You can barely witness the frowning eyes of the semi-immortal being behind the green visor, as she closes them, and starts walking again towards you.
Her feet gets stuck with a small branch on the floor, but she recovers. You watch an Arma swallowing, afraid of knocking something over, walking for you. Step after step, you do your very best to remain silent, to not let her hear where you are; it's hard, and your cheeks hurt. You move a bit to the side to catch her, since she lost her direction... but as she gets near you, she suddenly starts slowing down, a bit more after each step, until she's right in front of you. Shaking.

>Scare her.
>Hug her.
>Do nothing.
>Step aside.

>>309524
>Hug her.

>>309550

You hug your daughter. She gasps.

No.

You hug Preah. That's the truth. That's what happening. Did you... did you really miss on all of this? Was not wearing that condom really the worst thing that ever happened to you? You hug her tightly, and try, with all of remaining force, not to hug her as tightly as you want. You don't want to scare her; you want to keep the bullshit inside. Sealed.

"Pedro?"

You don't answer. If you did, she'll know. You don't want that.

"You are bored too... right?"

Holy fuck, no, don't do this to me, nonononono

What

What the fuck am I going to do now?

Why the fuck am I hugging her? I'm going to creep her out, I'm just a some guy she met on a cargo vessel.

This, all of this, goes through your head in the span of two seconds; the time it takes her to let her head rest on yours. Yeah, you are bored, too; very fucking bored, doing almost the same shit every day for the last twenty years. Weren't for the drinks, the pills, and Bobo, you would have shot your brains a long time ago... did you really, really miss on all of this, all this time? Was this not worth the bitching, both from your boss, and the ex? Right now, well... it seems you fucked up. Badly.

And you keep fucking up. My. See, you can't even stop crying.

"Yeah." your voice comes out broken; your last hope to not look like a desperate fucktard vanishes with the cold breeze. "I'm bored too, Preah."

And those sounds from the radio. No, fuck the radio; you can hear them, her head is right over yours. She's crying, too. Why is she so bored, she's fucking six years old, she's just a little kid, what the fuck are they doing with her?

"Nothing." It's like, she managed to read your mind. "They don't let me do anything. At all. And I can't leave! I can't leave! I can't leave, because then then, then..."

The "They". Holy giga mother of fuck...

"WHAT THE FUCK." you almost shout, startling Preah; you do your best to calm your perky tits. "Don't they let you have fun? Fuck around, kick balls, talk with kids? What the fuck, Preah, do they just leave you stranded in your fucking post?"

She... nods. Jesus. No shit, now everything is making sense.

"WHY?!"

"I DON'T KNOW!" she yells. "I don't know..."

"YOU ARE THERE TAKING CARE OF THEIR ASSES, AND THEY DON'T LET YOU MOVE? WHAT THE FUCK? JUST TELL THEM TO GO FUCK THEMSELVES, DO IT, I-I'LL TEACH YOU HOW!"

"I can't." She shakes her head. Your little girl is crying. "I can't."

You look at her eyes, rain and wind blowing everything apart around you. You just, tilt your head at her, maybe too slightly. You notice her fist are balled up, and trembling hard.

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>Press on.
>Leave it as it is.

>>309561
>Press on.

>>309559
>>Press on.

>>309590
>>309629

Sometimes, we all want to believe each has it's own fate, it's own fight; that we can't do anything about it. And it's not selfish; we got a lot of shit to deal with, every day, small shit that piled up over a long time. Shit we did nothing about about.

But it isn't true.

It isn't true.

"Preah."

She slowly, slowly rises her eyes at yours.

"...What happened?"

She shrieks, slightly. Her eyes downcast, she pauses.

"I-I don't know."

"You know." You press on.

"I DON'T KNOW!"

"Hey!" You grab her by both shoulder, and shaker her slightly. "Something happened. People don't hate out of nowhere; they need a reason, even if they are full of shit."

"I-I... I..." It's raining inside her helmet, too.

"Take a leap of faith. You know, sometimes... we really have few good choices, and they don't seem that good. This might be one of those." You hold her shoulders tightly. "Sometimes, you get to choose between a bad choice, and a worst choice. I think, today, the worst choice would be not to tell me."

She shakes the helmet wildly, dragging her hair along. You look at her, in silence, hearing her sobbing.

"I... don't want you to hate me. Everyone else does. I just, I... I just wanted to know if someone could care."

Now it all makes sense. It's not that she held on to you because she saw something special in you; it seems, the rest of the people she knew were just far worst in comparison.

"I care. I care. Preah?" You clench her shoulders gently, and she looks at you from behind the green visor. "I care about you." You pause. "Please."

"But... the landmines..."

"The moment you look at something you want, you are doomed to look for it." You smile, the best you can. "So, pretty much, I'm-"

"...I killed someone."

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Rain crashes all around you; the fog and the wind are getting worst. Or maybe it's you.

"Hey..." you find yourself shaking, yet slightly. "It was an accident. Right?"

She nods.

"And they all hate you for it?"

She nods again, as she swallows her tears, mucus flowing from her nose.

And it all comes crashing down, in just one go. That's what's going on, then.

You take your hands off her shoulder.

"Hey." you say.

She takes a while to answer. "...hmh?"

"Let's go to HQ. Okay?" You smile at her, hoping it's reassuring enough.

"...hmh."

You grab her hand, and lead her through the rain.

Hopes is a gamble. You tell yourself; "HEY, THIS IS GOING TO HAPPEN, FUCK YEAH RIGHT?", and then celebrate, in advance.

Sometimes it happens.
Sometimes it doesn't.

It could be anything, and you could be dead wrong, but you believe it to be the only explanation.

Everyone wants to believe they are on the right path to happiness; but then, what happens when someone who took the other path, is happy? It means, yes, that you could be wrong. That you could have made a poor choice. Nobody wants to believe that; nobody wants to think, they just want life to be a straight path towards happiness, a safe path, they want happiness to be assured.

Nobody wants to be an Arma.

Armas are made by almost completely emptying a body, and erasing it's memories completely, to ensure the connection with the GOG gas goes smoothly. They are, then, filled with the highest technology we have at hand, so high in fact, that not even the sisters of the West House know what's going on; they just follow the instructions that Sansui left. And it works.

It works wonders.

People are so selfish; everything is going to hell, yet who is willing to step forward? Not even you are... you don't want to forget your daughter, you even fuck up your mind and body on purpose to become a poor choice; they say the process is extremely painful, part of the reason for which the memory has to be erased afterwards.

So what happens, then? People feel guilt. True guilt. And they need to believe the choice they are making is the right one.

So,

they hate Armas. Secretly, subtly; they mock them under their breath. They HAVE to believe they are better than them.

And Preah's a tiny Arma, who made a huge mistake... who gave them an excuse to unleash all of their shit on her, all of their guilt, all of their insanity...

And they seem to be hanging on to it, desperately.

"Preah?" You stop, under the rain, but she kept walking, and bounced on you.

She doesn't answer. You turn you helmet towards her.

"Do you know what a blowjob is."

She nods.
Fuck.

You almost tackle the door to HQ, more out of retard spite than anything; it's not it's fault.

"Whoa niggu, calm down!" It's the Cross Boss, holding two white bags, as the both of you take off your helmets. "Hey, I got some of that shit you like..." She makes her point by pausing; then raises the bags. "And mother-fucking pork ribs! Negro, we celebrate tonight."

You barely pay her attention; your gears are set, and they don't seem to be stopping anytime soon. So you nod, blurt "thanks", and keep on walking.

She stops you by putting a hand on your chest. Cross Boss always has those Disney-like white gloves with black stripes.

"Alright, tell me what’s wrong."

You look at her in the "eyes" (you stare at the black cross), then give a sad smirk.

"Holy shit, that bad?" She let her shoulders fall. "Well you know what, we can talk about it over pork ribs, ain't no better way to talk shit than that! You eat too, girl."

"That sounds very nice."

"Then it's set." She crosses her arms, then nods. You keep walking through her side; and as you do, you can't help not feeling glad that she actually gets the point. A motherfucker can be a nice, understanding motherfucker. "Oh, and good news, man!" she says, cheerfully. "Sixteen hours? Fuck that! They coming in one."

You freeze; from the head to the feet.

"Fucking hell man," she shrugs, "how can I be so awesome. It's enraging."

The door closes behind you. And after you share a slight, powerful look of despair with Preah, you both rush behind her.

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"Holy shit," says the Cross Boss, sitting on the couch of the living room, surrounded by Bobo, Marcos, and Carlos, "I fucked up."

The rain outside feels like a comfortable shelter from the words. Nobody talks, but their faces enough; Preah is looking at the floor, Bobo is frowning his eyes with his mouth open, Marcos is staring dumb-folded, Carlos face is far too neutral, and the Cross Boss can't take off her helmet.

"Yeah." You finally break the silence, nodding at nowhere. "That's what's happening."

Bobo shakes his head. "...Mother-fuckers man, what the fuck."

"DUDE" says Carlos, certainly doing his best to seem serene, "YOU ARE BAILING HER THE FUCK OUT."

It was obvious, from the very second Preah opened her mouth. So you nod, silently.

"Maaaaaaan, fuck those guys; I mean, I'm fucking shocked." The Cross Boss really seems so. "Just how fucked the fuck up you gotta be, to even think about raping an Arma, Jesus fuck!"

"Nigga." It's Marcos. He's usually quite quiet. "This ain't not your usual boy or girl. We are dealing with normal people here."

"Normal people." Bobo nods, a hand in his mouth; his eyes are a bit red, and open wide. "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeet..."

"What the fuck are we going to do, like, the fucktards are already on their way." Cross Boss extends an open palm towards you, as you open your mouth. "We can't do nothing about that. Don't waste time."

"First things first," you state, firmly, "we hide her."

Everyone nods in silence. You are slowly becoming a master at nodding.

>Take her to the abandoned lighthouse.
>Take her to Trash's.
>Take her to the restaurant.
>Take her to the island.

It's raining so hard...

>>311022
>Take her to Trash's.

>>311903

As you both run under the heavy rain, you slip, and both of your legs spread wide, like one of those yoga poses. You hear Preah's gasp on the radio.

"FUCK, I'm ok, let's go." No time for bitching, it seems.

Thanks to the lighthouse and the helicopter ride, you faintly recall the direction of their house. And even if you got a bit worried there, it emerges from the fog, over a tiny hill, next to a cliff.

Knock knock!

Knock knock knock knock!

Nobody comes.

"Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me! For FUCKS SA-" The door opens. "-KE!"

"Is that Pedro?" It's Snacks tasty smile under her horned, messy golden cloud. She doesn't wait for your answer. "Come in, quick!"

You both rush inside, and take off your helmets. Dripping at the floor, both you and Preah just stand there, as Snacks closes the door behind you.

"You must, uh... really like pajamas." You blurt out.

"I like to be comfortable! It's kind of an art, at this point." She giggles. The way she's facing reminds you that she's blind. "Trash is still laughing about that time I went to work on my pajamas. She bribed everybody to not tell me, just to see how much it would take me to find out on my own." She gets an open palm on her forehead. "I never did, that day!"

"Snacks, listen, we might need a little help here." you say, trying to be firm, but faltering.

"Follow me, first. You must be hungry." She turns around, and walks towards the kitchen's door, followed by you. Snacks then stops at the door, touching it's edges with her hand, until she fixes her direction, and moves inside.

Feeling a little tired, you almost let yourself fall on the small pillow on the floor at the low table, leaving your helmet next to you on the floor as Preah takes a place at your side, and Snacks slowly sits facing you.

"The two of you came at the right time, an old friend is coming soon." She points at the oven, and the dim, bright light inside. "You might get to meet her."

"I don't think we will. You see, we are trying to leave the island."

She raises an eyebrow; then follows a swift, resumed explanation about the recent events; you also find out, from Preah's mouth, that they first feigned to forgive her, and then cut all of her hair. It's a bit funny behind all the grimness, since Arma's can grow, and change the color of their hairs at will. At the end of the story, Snacks has both eyebrows raised. But then she smiles.

"Then this must be some kind of miracle. Indeed, this is not the sort of thing to happen all the time!" Snacks seem pretty pleased.

Your pick up a faint sound, coming from your helmet; and Preah's. Without further thinking you put the green thing on.

"HEY FUCKTARD, YOU HEARING?"

It's Bobo's voice.

"IM HERE!" you almost yell. "IM AT A FRIE-"

"NIGGA, YOU WILL NOT FUCKING BELIEVE WHO JUST CAME. REALLY, THIS SOME CRAZY ASS SHIT FROM A MOVIE."

You swallow. "Motherfucker, just say it!"

"LEADERHORN!" Bobo pauses. "MOTHER-FUCKING LEADERHORN, MAN!"

>>312103
damm son this went really dark fast holey shit man, but keep going plz that poor girl

Fuck. Oh, fuck. The Cross Boss told you she arranged with the himmys to get Preah to her dreadnaught at the Fifth. It turns out they were headed for the same place. The himes accepted, they've been trying to put on a good word for their faction for some time now.

"Yeah, fucking great, why the fuck should I care?" you say, wincing in anger.

"Oh my brave little negro, you fucking should." It's the Cross Boss; her voice seems worried. "Cause there's no backing from this one now. The guys at the fifth are waiting for the horned little fucks to bring the Arma. If they don't, the Fifth might think they stole her. I suggest you avoid the big deal at all fucking costs, my brethren."

You take off the helmet, then take a deep breath. Snacks is facing you, somehow.

"Is something the matter?" she asks, likely knowing that something IS the matter. You can't blame someone for trying to be polite, no matter how assblasted you feel.

"They brought Leaderhorn. Here, in this shitty, small island."

"Oh, I know!" Snacks smiles. "She's coming right here. Don't worry, I'll put on a good word for you!"

You ass clenches.

>Get the fuck out.
>Stay; trust Snacks.

>>312169
>Stay; trust Snacks.

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>>312193

You swallow. Hard. And nod.

This is it.

Running away from Leaderhorn is tempting, without a shadow of a doubt, but the truth as it stands right now is that this might be a silver lining to avoiding a bloodbath.
You realize then that you just nodded at a blind person, but you don't give half a shit at this point. You hold Preah's hand in yours, tightly, and focus your senses on the sound of rain outside.

"We will wait, then." You say, your voice broken.

"Don't worry!" Snacks says, always with that tasty smile on her face, like she's always chewing on a chocolate cake, filled with cream. "I'm sure she will understand. Dead sure! She's quite the sweetheart."

Your hand hurts; and then you realize how scared Preah is.
The two of you remain in silence, saying the occasional thing to Snacks as she tries to lift up the mood.

A helix is heard, in the distance. Every second the stronger.

File: Leaderhorn.png (221 KB, 585x1143)

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It stops.

The door creaks behind you. You rise your eyes to the ceiling, truly afraid for the first time in your life, as you hear voices coming from behind you. Something drops at your side, you turn to face it; it's Trash, looking at you intently, in the eyes.

"How's it going, pal?" she says, then moans as she stretches both arms towards the ceiling. For you, it feels like a whole hour until she stops. "It's so crowded here, what are we gonna do?"

"Friends of yours?" The voice is sweet, and cheerful.

"Yeah, she's a great girl," you start, turning around, "we almost-

Fuck.

"-ended up in jail... because..."

Leaderhorn is looking down at your bald head right behind you. You shit yourself. Silently, and dimly, but you shit yourself at the sight. She reaches her only hand to you, smiling vividly; you take it, and try not to shake it to hard, while you giggle like a retard.

"Crap, I lost." It's Trash. "She brought her."

"If you ask her," says the hornmother next to her, small in comparison, "it wasn't easy to convince me."

"Was it easy?" asks Snacks, softly.

Leaderhorn shakes her head. "It wasn't."

They keep talking cheerfully, over you and Preah, almost without paying you heed. Your ass feels wet, but at least it's not blood. For now. Still, the smell...

"I-I'm sorry", you stutter, "where's the bathroom?"

The only one who stops talking is Snacks. She points at her left, you don't hear what she says but you still head over there. At this point, staying or not with Preah won't help that much, so you don't worry about that in particular. Once in the bathroom, you clean your boxers to the best of your skills, blasting the stain with hot tap water.

When you return, Preah is still there; talking with Leaderhorn. It's been like, ten fucking years since you don't feel the chest to heavy... you are not ready for this kind of shit. Nevertheless, you go there, sit down, and grab a cookie among them, Leaderhorn and the hornmother now sitting as well over pillows on the floor, surrounding the small, low table.

Leaderhorn looks pretty serious.

She nods, deeply; then stares right at your soul, through your eyes. You feel the sweat slowly going from your bald through your forehead; it itches. Then, she looks at the hornmother, and tilts her horns towards the entry door while still looking at you, while you think about her long, black hair dripping water into the table.
The hornmother rises from the table, looking at you.

"Come with me." She doesn't wait for the answer, and heads towards the exit.

"You do like being serious, don't ya!" It's Trash, almost yelling at her. Preah looks at you, and you return a smile at her; then follow the hornmother with a broken horn, and odd looking clothes.

File: Broken Horn.png (207 KB, 817x1188)

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She closes the door behind, and now only a small, floating roof protects you both from the endless rain. The hornmother looks at you dead in the eye, and blinks a few times.

"If we don't take her with us," her voice sounds firm, and strong, "then we will be at fault."

"Did she tell you the whole story?" you almost yell against the sound of rain.

She nods at you.

"Then you don't give a fuck." You state, suddenly not giving many fucks, either.

She shakes her head at you. "Leaderhorn is willing to take her with us. I'm not." Then, she gives you a wicked smile. "You are going to have to convince me."

"How about not being an insensitive fucktard, for once in your life?!"

"Not enough!" Her wicked smile remains, and you feel very compelled to make her swallow it with your first. "Think about it. They will be free to think whatever they want, should the Arma dissapear. And even if we deny it, it would still be fuel to hate us." She tilts her head and horns to the side; is she fucking having fun right now?! "My whole race is at stake here; so you better make this worth it."

"You get an Arma."

"Not enough!" she shakes her head, smiling widely by the second. You swallow; something fiery rising from inside of you.

"What do you want? What the FUCK do you want then?! And the fuck did you drag me here alone?! Why just the two of us?!"

"Leaderhorn isn't good at this." She mantains eye contact, still smiling. "Too kind. Too soft. She has me, then, to show no mercy."

"Then fuck her, and fuck you too."

She gives you a meaningful look, with her black eyes with golden irises. "Do you really want that? Right now?"

You downcast your head, almost too suddenly. "No..."

"Then think your words carefully! What can you offer me, to make this mess worth it?"

...What do you have?

>Write in.
>...

>>312419
>Write in.
The ability to slowly fix a broken Arma.

>>312608

The broken horned hornmother maintains her eyes on yours, while the world slowly sinks all around you. She can't be more than four feet tall, and yet your presence can't shake her.
Instead, it's you who's sweating. It's you who, now, is brutally reminded how it feels like to have a lot to lose.

Then, she sighs. Your heart skips a beat.

"Why do you do it?" her hard, firm voice goes down a few notches.

"Because right now, Armas mean... everything." You open both arms widely, to make your point and drain some of your energy. "Right now, to protect an Arma is, literally, to protect the whole wide world. Or the ten or twenty islands we still have floating around."

You hope you can bullshit her; this far, you can't bullshit yourself any longer.
Even if it is true.

"In this moment, we cannot afford to make enemies with the Fifth. Not over a single Arma." Her eyes dim as she says this. "I take you understand this is not about justice and happy endings. You won't deny we would end up losing in this trade."

"I know, I know, I KNOW!" You clench your head with both hands without sparing on strength, hoping perhaps to squeeze an idea out of your mind. It doesn't seem to be working. It's a single Arma against the safety of the himehorns as a whole. She's making sense; that's the issue.

"And..." she's not smiling anymore. "She can't use GOG gas." She looks at you in the eyes; without sadness, without anger, without anything you could put a name to. "Convince me. What can you give to me?"

"I know jack-shit about the Sixth, if that's what you mean. I'm just a soldier, I'm disposable, but she's not, so... PLEASE, PLEASE," you can't fake these tears; you are nowhere near the rain, "please, take her with you..."

"Why? It would do more harm than help to everyone." She closes her head towards you, and you muster all your might not to punch her in the nose, or at least bitch-slap her. "How about this; I'll name my terms."

Your heart freezes; then you gaze upon her in awe, and suddenly, your heart is racing again...

"Any-" you stutter, like a tard. "...anything!!"

"I'm in need of workforce in this moment." Her wicked smile returns, and right now your whole world turns around it. "Do you have any acquaintances willing to help you?"

"YES. YES."

She nods, still with that fucking smile.

"If you manage to convince them to work under me, for free, for three years in a row," fucking smile, man, "then, I'll speak to Leaderhorn to welcome you among us. Along with the Arma."

She clears her throat, then gives you a meaningful glare from below.

"How does that sound?"

>FUCKING BAD
>YES!

>>312759
>YES
as if the other option would be better
also mate i was legit pissed off for like 4 hours today from reading about what hapened to Preah. mybe she could use here gog gas but what happened to her fucked her up so she couldnt and y she still stays in the mental age of like 6( even thow she little) probs couse it helps,

>>312759
>YES!
Did the write in actually help, or did you went with "..."?

>>312784

She slowly blinks at you, keeping her smile. "I'm glad we got to- hey! What are you...!"

You grab her like a prince would grab a princess; then fucking sprint towards the rain and the mud, taking it all in. She doesn't scream or complain, but grabs on to you with all of her might as you run downhill like crazy, ignoring the people staring at you while you think of only one thing.

PUM.

The fucking door to HQ is fucking sturdy, so you open the handle like any other fucking human being should. Yet, it woke up everyone on the house, so that kinda worked.

"What the fuck?!" It's the Cross Boss, with a sleeping hat over her helmet. "What?!" she stares at the hornmother, quivering as you drop her on the floor over her clawed feet, both of you drenched from head to toe. "Nignog the fuck do you think you're doing bringing those lil fucking tards with horns in my house!" She looks at the hornmother. "No offense."

"None taken." she does her best to shake the water from her robe, not concerned about making a mess. "So, what was that about?"

"GUYS. GUYS...." you close the door behind you, then turn towards Marcos, Bobo, and Carlos as they arrive. "LISTEN... listen to the little fucker, please. These, these are the guys." You point at them, your finger shaking slightly. "Do it!"

"That's your problem, not mine." She doesn't even seem shaken. What the fuck. "Take your time..." she heads towards the kitchen.

"You don't leave no egg in MAH house negro!" Bobo shouts at the hornmother, but she ignores him. "Man, the fuck is going on now?"

"Listen... I won't sugarcoat this shit." You take a deep breath; then let a silent prayer inside you. You don't believe in any god, but this is the power of desperation, and you just found out you are not that strong. "That thing, here, want's us to be her slaves for three years in exchange for taking care of Preah."

The four of them look at you oddly, then take turns looking at each other.

"What the fuck?" says Marcos.

"Well you gotta give it to the nigga, he did not bullshit."

"I'M IN." It's Carlos, kindling a candle in your chest. "I'M IN, MAN, I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE SLAVE TO A TALL NEGRO GENTLEMEN."

"What about a himehorn?" says the Cross Boss.

Carlos shrugs. "I COULD USE THE TRAINING, I GUESS?"

Marcos takes a step forward, looking at you, puzzled. "Negro, you sure there ain't no other way?"

"Positive!" you exclaim. "It sounds like shit, I know but..."

"It doesn't sound that bad to me." Her voice comes out kinda soft. "Come on, my fellow shitheads, we were just about to go up there with the Zerhte. I mean, I don't fucking know what's going to happen, but what are the odds that It’ll be worst?"

"YOU RIGHT, NIGGA." says Marcos.

"YEAH." affirms Bobo.

"We real black slaves now." Marcos nods.

"S-so," you stutter, feeling very, very grateful about being alive to witness this, "you guys really don't have a problem with this?"

"Man, you are going to suffer like the rest of us." The Cross Boss shrugs.

This is your reward, then, for picking your friends carefully.
These great motherfuckers, immune to bullshit, happy like a pig in shit.
The broken horn Leader returns, she's munching on a cookie as she holds another in her hand.

"NIGGA," Bobo says, genuinely startled, "THATS FOR DIPPING ON THE COFFEE, YOU DON'T DO THAT LIKE THAT."

The broken horn Leader blinks at him, then takes the cookie out of her mouth and nods at him. Bobo rushes to the kitchen, carefully moving her aside. She then looks at the both of you.

"What will it be, then?"

"WE GAME!" says Carlos.

"YEAH!" the four of you say in unison, Bobo from the kitchen. It's not a coincidence, the lot of you practiced this a lot out of sheer boredom. The cue is when someone doesn't say "nigger".

"Not so fast." Her face remains neutral against your stares. "I need a warrant. Something to keep a hold of the lot of you."

"You've got Preah." You state, coldly.

"And what would I do to her?" she raises an eyebrow at you; maybe you are too excited to think straight. She's right. "How can I make sure that you won't deceive me?"

Bobo returns with the coffee and hands it over to her; she dips the cookie, then takes a bite. She's in sugar paradise while your eyes almost break free from your head.

"You were so right." she says, dipping another cookie.

>You talk. (write in!)
>You let the others do the talking.

>>312784
I'm glad I pissed someone with my writing! =w=
Sometimes, even when you are strong, you can't do anything about luck.

>>312793
You managed to soften her heart. Most people do things either for currency or ego, or don't even understand why. But you pointed out a very good reason.

>>312839
joke about giving her all the cookies and coffe then let the others talk about how they would do it as you alredy got them the job sorta its there turn to seal yourslfs

>>312847

"You take all of the cookies. All of them." You put your whole heart in this serious face. "And the coffee. If we run away or set your ship on fire, then you can eat them."

She lifts an eyebrow towards you. "Joke aside," she says, "I was going to take them anyway."

"NIGGA, DATS ILLEGAL." Bobo states, shaking his index finger.

"I don't care. You can have some, of course." she says, taking another bite.

"OH." Bobo drops the finger. "OK THEN."

As she munches on the cookie, the hornmother with the broken horns stares at you, a bored look on her face. She tilts her head, slowly.

Well, she does have a point. You wouldn't mind backstabbing her that much.

>You talk. (write in!)
>You let the others do the talking.

>>312853
>>You let the others do the talking.
y do i get the felling that this girl is our little girl since( our body would have been able to become one but we fucked that up, thinking that the girls body like ours would have been good for it)

>>312853
>You let the others do the talking.
It wouldn't seem like we're dragging them along against their will this way!

>>312859

Those who do not care have nothing to lose.
They can't be threatened.
She can't use Preah as a hostage; plenty of reasons for that. And by the looks of it, she isn't willing to take your word for it.

Which makes a hell of a lot of sense.

The Cross Boss extends her arm towards the hornmother, in perfect silence. You tilt your head a bit to the side; in her hand...

"Here." She says, firmly. "This is my credit card."

The broken horned takes the small, red card with blue stripes, then studies it intently as she turns it around.

"I do wonder how much currency this holds." She puts her in front of her face and dims her eyes.

All around the PC's monitor, the Cross Boss gently takes the card from her hand and places it in a squarely shaped slot; a green laser line spawns from the sides, going all over the credit card up and down. The number on the screen makes you open your mouth wide.

"Motherfucker." Bobo's voice is completely void of his former accent; straight, clear.

"This is the average pay of an Arma." The Cross Boss stares at the screen, her arms resting on the chair. "Thanks to Lost, of course, no matter what the shitheads say."

You glance at the broken horned hornmother, and let out a small gasp; she's crying out of joy, with a bright, childish smile all over her face. It suddenly vanishes, and she clears her eyes with one of her gigantic sleeves.

"That's right, you little shit," the Cross Boss states, prudly, "if we fuck up, you can take cash from my account. You take all of it, and I take Preah after making a bridge using all of your horns as bricks. Don't fuck with me, we don't fuck with you." She turns her cross shaped helmet towards the tiny hornmother. "And you also get another Arma free of charge, to clean your shit or whatever. How does that sound?"

"So..." she's trying so hard, but you can easily tell her voice is shaking with thrill, "you are an Arma, then."

Suddenly, she starts floating, barely a few feet above the ground; until all of her body is resting on the ceiling facing downwards, her face blank.

"I am convinced." she states, firmly.

"Nigga, why don't you use them GOG gas to clean shit, you always saying you tired or shit, fuck you man." Bobo says, as the hornmother slowly descends into his arms.

"Because GOG gas is like another muscle, my boy. And moving muscles means work."

"Nigga, you just lazy."

"I know." she nods. She faces the hornmother then. "Satisfied."

She nods, from the arms of Bobo. God fucking dammit; she looks so happy.

"There you go, this is the password, this is the codeword, this is my date of birth, and this is the rest of my bullshit." She doesn't even flinch, and she's handing more money than you earn in five years to a himehorn. The Cross Boss turns to you, likely noticing your stare of pure love and gratefullness. "Don't worry, you'll be fucking another guy in no time."

"Why do you like that so much?" you say, defeated.

"NIGGA THATS YAOI!" Carlos blurts out, bluntly.

"And I do like yaoi, so there you go!" She states cheerfully, and lets her cross shaped helmet wander all over the lot of you. No one saying a word yet, as the hornmother clicks and tips at the PC in blissful hurry. "What now?"

"Well," you shrug, somewhat happy, "now we work three years for free."

"We should celebrate!"

"I hope you do not mind doing so on the ship. We should be leaving shortly."

"Why? What's the hurry, tiny horns?"

She smirks. "We are still going there."

...All of you are looking at each other, the hornmother's eyes still fixed on the screen.


>This is the final choice of the quest.

>Oppose.
>Accept.
>Ask. (write in)

>>312881
>Ask. Can we still see Preah?

>>312881
>>Ask. Can we still see Preah?
slap my ass and call me a bitch fuck Cross Boss you could ave goten us some sweet toys/ beers alot early and mybe joined in on the guy banging couse i ant gay.Accept

>>312889
or at lest get one of the other guys to do it

>>312886

She nods.

"She will remain on the ship, hidden along the rest of you. My plan is to contact the authorities of the Fifth and say we did not manage to find the Arma in this island. Then blame the lot of you for it, perhaps even say we saw you leave, since you all will be vanishing with me." Her wicked smile returns. "By showing my face on their docks, they won't think us liars. Yet I'm fairly certain my kin will still be accused, one way or the other; but the force of the blame will falter. It's all for the herd."

"And..."

"And after that," she resumes, looking at you, "you will work for me."

>This is the final choice of the quest.

>Oppose.
>Accept.
>Ask. (write in)

>>312894
>Accept.
Can't think of anything else to ask.

>>312889

"Hey, Cross Boss." Something stingy lingers in your throat.

"Yeah?"

"FUCK YOU, we always had to pay for your shit."

"Yeah, fuck you man."

"FUCK YOU."

"FUCK-YOU,-NIGRRRAA!"

She laughs, wholeheartly.

"We even PAID for you greedy ass motherfucker." Bobo winces. "How can you be such a greedy fucking bitch?"

She just fucking laughs.

>Oppose.
>Accept.
>Ask. (write in)

>>312894
>Accept
can you get cross boss to stop making me bang dudes? im keen

>>312899

"Hey, seriously, can I not fuck this guy?"

"Haha." She pauses. "No."

You shrug, sad. Then you turn towards towards the hornmother.

You nod deeply at her. "Do it."

It's her whole race that's a stake, after all. It may be risky... but it's the very least you can afford to allow.

"Don't worry, they won't come inside the ship." she says, calmly. Is your head a fucking book? "Should they do, it has its secret. It's a very safe gamble, and I do appreciate you take this risk for me."

"Then we are done here."

She smiles. Not a wicked smile; a happy smile.

"We are done here."

There's nothing more to do, anons! I'll take a few naps, then write the epilogue! =w=

I'm very certain it will be pretty long.

>>312898
>>Ask. (write in)
she ows us a drink and shes going to have to start paying for the YAAO give her the finger

>>312905

"Please?"

"No."

...If only she had the same determination when it comes to cleaning, taking the trash, and doing the dishes. But guess what; she doesn't.
You consider giving her the middle finger... but she practically sold herself to the himehorns and got her credit card hostage so you could still look after Preah.
Oh, well. At least it won't be a chopper this time.

>>312908
true true, when dose preah gets paied then?
lets do this thing

This rain... it won't stop. No matter what we do.
From the big, gray clouds, struggling to hide the sun, a silver lining lands on the big black air-craft; it's design gives an angry vibe, even if it's resting calmly under the rain. It's belly opens slowly revealing a wide stairway, firmly covered in rough, crimson fabric, as it lands on the floor in front of you. Preah, Bobo, Carlos and Marcos clutch around you to avoid the small waterfalls that falls by the sides of the ship, Preah holding onto your right hand and Bobo to your left hand, until you give him a tired smirk. Behind you, the Cross Boss let's the rain fall over her.

In the end, Leaderhorn called in another of her ships to the island, since the hornmother didn't wanted to risk having anybody see you enter on their ship. So they will stay there for a while longer, having snacks with Snacks and talking trash with Trash. You conceal your retarded giggle.

After you walk these red steps, this ship will take you to the Greathorn; the main himehorn hybrid ship.

Home. It will be funny, now, when those little shits tell you to "go home, nohorn!". You sigh, smiling.

"Guys." You say, firmly. "Ready to suck?"

Nobody answers, not even Preah. There's no need at this point. At the end of the steps there's darkness, and a faint light coming from the sides inside the ship.

Welp. No going back now. You step on the stairway.

As you take the finals steps, you didn't have to look around for too long to find himehorns sitting in front of white screens, touching buttons and drinking coffee, all over the main room of the ship that's surrounded by the big windows you saw outside. Haremhorns. Those are haremhorns, you recall, the ones that do all the work and take care of their offspring. They are as tall as that hornmother, but their horns are white and short, and most of them are naked in front of the screens. From cleaning shit on a cave to commanding an air-ship; you shrug. Life's like that. One of them walks up to the lot of you, wearing a simple black shirt and baggy cargo pants with no shoes. She's holding a laptop in both hands faced towards you; in the screen, you can read "FOLLOW ME" in big black letters on Paint MS.

File: half assedly.png (33 KB, 1106x687)

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You do so.

A metallic door opens in front of her, it's at least two times her size. It gives to a circular room, similar to the top half of a big sphere, with some noticeably small chairs in rows. They face diagonally towards a green board that has musclehorns drawn on it, in white chalk. At both ends to the sides, big, long windows are clouded by the rain and fog. Only a strong white light coming through the left window lits the room, barely, until the haremhorn turns around with the laptop. It has a rough drawing on it. All of you close by to look at it; it's half assed, but at least it makes sense, and you wonder if she did it while she was bringing all of you here.

"NIGGA WAS DOES THIS MEAN?" almost shouts Carlos, your ear hurts because his head is right next to yours. The haremhorn gives him a grim stare.

"Negro why don't you shut up and think, man?" says Bobo.

"God fucking dammit, no wonder you were our slaves." It's the Cross Boss. "The holes to our sides lead below to an aisle, through ladders. The rooms are along the way." The three of them go "oooooooh!" and you follow; you know they are just fucking around.

At your right, Preah is still pretty silent, clutching your hand tightly. Her point made, the haremhorn closes the laptop in a single, swift motion and walks by your side towards the door behind you. You've been surrounded by himehorns for a while, so it didn't surprise you in the least that she'd rather draw the whole wide thing instead of just opening her mouth. For some reason, haremhorns hate talking.

A powerful thunder echoes from the distance; from here, the rain is even nice to hear.

You close the door behind you. The room is almost painfully small; it has a bed under a wooden board, a small refrigerator, and a kitchen all clutched together. You sit on the bed; this place doesn't even have windows. To your right, your eyebrow rises towards the small picture of a smallhorn holding a small football as you smirk; wouldn't her claws pierce it? It seems these are the rooms of the haremhorns of this ship.
At least the bed is of your size. You let your bald head fall on the pillow, it gives a cute bounce against it. One day. It took only one day for everything to change. Well, what the hell; at least it came!
A dim, screeching sound rises until it's piercing enough to make you worry, then you feel heavy, very heavy; the ship is rising. You rise from the bed and Preah is looking at you , leaning from the open door. Her purple hair is a mess over her purple eyes, thanks to the helmet and the rain.

"Pedro?" She seems shy.

"Hey, come in." You say, smiling brightly. She walks inside, without looking around then sits next to you. She seems so small, and she's so tall! "I got another game for you!"

"Um... Is it scary?" She ponders to herself, rising her balled up first to her chin; "Wait!" then she's suddenly pouting at you. "Why did you make me walk with my eyes closed?! Was there even a point to that, or you were just playing a trick on me? Mean!"

You laugh; not the best time, but god dammit you can't help it. Then you calm yourself, avoiding her tilting head as it gives you an angry stare. "No, no; it wasn't a joke or anything."

"Then?" Preah tilts her head as she gives you this inquisitive, threatening... cute stare.

"It was... kind of an exercise, so to speak. Um, let me catch my bearings." You scratch your bald hear, more out of habit than anything. Then you start smiling, but you manage to cut it off. "Some people are more afraid to walk with their eyes closed than others, because they are more afraid of the unknown. They need to be looking all the time; they need control. Sometimes, Preah, you can just close your eyes and walk. Sometimes not, of course! Or you’ll end up banging your head on a ladder or something. God dammit, am I making sense?"

"Hardly."

You point at her with your finger. "That's cold." She "hmms!" and turns her face from you; then she's looking at you from the corner of her eye.

"So what about this game you wanted to show me?" she says.

"It's annoying." You pause and let that sink in, for dramatic effect. "It's called the annoying game."

"I don't want to play it."

"Oh but you should," you warn, "because it's the most annoying, tiresome and important game there is."

Preah smirks at you.

"Fine! How do you play it?"

"Easy; just keep asking "why" at anything."

"Why?"

"Because," you smile; you saw that one coming, "you will learn just how much you don't understand about anything."

"Why?"

"Because we just assume a lot of things without a second thought, and we just find that out when we try to go deep on them."

"Why?"

"Because thinking is a tiresome job, that everyone has to do."

"Landmines and rain, right?"

"Exactly." You nod at her, feeling proud for the first time in a very long time. It makes you smile even more widely, so you must look pretty silly right now. "Wanna give it a shot?"

"Later!"

She throws herself at the bed, your bed, then gives you this mocking look. It feels kind of odd, now that you think of it; you can't even think of Preah as a woman. It just doesn't fit.

"Pfff! Fine!" You stand, smiling widely; she looks confused. "I'll just take your room."

"H-hey!"

You turn towards the door, but something drags you in from your jacket like a ragdoll. Then you find yourself in the bed, covered by cold steel as Preah hugs you from behind. It's quite uncomfortable; and yet, so nice.

But the door was open. You realize this as, with your mouth wide open, you look straight into Bobo's eyes, who's returning the look from the aisle outside. He slowly raises his arm, extends it towards you, lifts a finger... then calls you; "Arma-Fucker."

"OH no negro don't do this to me!" You almost shout in desperation, as Preah rests her cheek on your baldy while she holds you tightly against her. Bobo leaves. You don't have half the heart to tell her it feels kinda hard, but at least the metal is warming up...

Armas don't sleep. They don't need to; you don't really understand it, but that's how it is.

But when you wake up she's still there behind you, and your neck hurts when you try to move it; like half the rest of your body.

You mutter "ouch" as you try to free yourself from Preah's arms, but she releases you on her own.

"You snore!" she states, far too excited for the fact."

After a while of explaining why people get drunk, somebody knocks on the door.

"Arma-Fucker, wake the fuck up and come up!" It's the voice of the Cross Boss.

"Fuck you!" you state, pointing out at reliable sources to back your argument.

"It's the Leaderhorn you fucktard, she wants to talk to us. Bring me your ass."

"What does "fuck" mean?" Preah asks, still confused.

The haremhorn steps aside, then the lot of you surround the tiny, black monitor. It lits. Leaderhorn is staring from it.

"Hello!" She sounds pretty cheerful. "I wanted to see how all of you were doing."

"Pretty fucking ok." It's the Cross Boss that answers. "Wanted to check on your new shiny Armas, right?"

Leaderhorn pauses, as she blinks in the screen.

"I-It's not like that, what do you mean?" her sudden behavior draws more than one puzzled glance. "I was just wondering if you had enough food over there because haremhorns don't eat a lot and..."

"I brought my pork-ribs to celebrate getting fucked over, thank you." The Cross Boss states, calmly. "Don't worry, we aren't going anywhere. You jew-horns made one hell of a deal!"

"Fuck man, that's harsh!" Bobo smiles, shaking.

Leaderhorn eyebrows drop, along with her shoulders. What?

"I... I really don't understand what you mean, I-I... I just wanted to help." Her voice sounds so soft, so low... no man, what the fuck, this can't be the Leaderhorn that fought mother-fucking Fair?. "I’m sure there is a misunderstanding to this. What deal do you mean?"

"Oh, come on. Pedro?"

You push the Cross Boss aside, facing the screen head on, feeling your veins pulsing in your forehead.

"T-the deal! THE FUCKING DEAL! That hornmother that was with you, she said you were willing to take us but that it was a bad trade if you just got an Arma in exchange!"

She blinks. "The broken horn Leader?"

"YES!" you shoot saliva all over the screen, "YES, THE ONE WITH THE BROKEN HORN!"

"But I was going to take her anyway! I wasn't going to leave her there to be tortured!"

You smile and shake your head. "What the fuck is going on?"

"I-I don't know! I just wanted to help! I'm sorry if..."

"WAIT WAIT, why did you tell her to talk to me, alone?"

She gets... kinda serious there.

"Is Preah around there?"

"Yeah, what for?"

"Did she tell you?"

"About what?"

"About what happened to her."

"Wait, what do you mean?" you ask, somehow desperate.

She clears her throat; her voice is so sturdy right now.

"This is something the both of you should speak in private."

"Leaderhorn!" It's Preah, getting her head on the screen. "He already knows, I told him before I told you!"

...It's noticeable how Leaderhorn's seriousness vanishes from her face.

"B-but... I thought he didn't know."

And all the pieces fall together in place.

Bobo, Marcos, Carlos, you; all of you open your mouths wide open, and even wider than that, looking at each other in absolute, unquestionable horror, slowly shaking your heads.

"Oh, no, negro." says the Cross Boss, very, VERY calmly. "Oh, no."

"No." says Bobo.

"No." says Carlos, calm for the first time in ages.

You gently push Preah aside, then take a deep breath.

"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKK!!!!"

It's still raining outside, but now it's barely over a pleasant drizzle that makes the windshields do that shrieking sound on the windows.

Of course, the sky is still gray.

Now you know why the broken horn Leader wanted all of you on another ship.

All of you are now sought after worldwide after a swift, official announcement from the Fifth, since the Sixth washed it's big hands from you. Can't blame them.

And that's because your (now former) Chief released your names to the Fifth, after the broken horn Leader raised hell because she didn't want the himehorns to take the blame.

So none of you got anywhere to go anymore.

You barely turn your head around; Preah is right next to you, playing on her PSP. You wonder if she's winning. She catches you looking at it, then kisses you on your bald, old head.

You blush.

"Arma-Fucker." The Cross Boss states.

Oh, well. At least you are doing something meaningful with your life, now. You are slowly fixing an Arma.
Maybe you can forgive yourself, for all the shit? Maybe a little, at least?

You sigh, smiling as you shake your head. You still got to fuck that guy.


Fin.

>>316038
is this the end to the whole thing?? noooo

>>316168
I'm afraid so. x)

Thanks for following!