Chương 101: D stands for Disappointment

D was one among a thousand approved, vetted, and highly decorated vendors in the system shop. I knew them through such exotic weapons as the Goop Gun that shoots slightly sentient globs of slime, and, well, that's sorta it. D's guns were weird, in that each and every one was unique, embossed somewhere with their fancy initials. The same letter D was also present on Addy's sword Hocchi, though she'd gotten it as an heirloom from her deceased mentor.

They must have gotten it from D some years ago as well, which meant that this vendor had been around for quite a while. Maybe they were part of some long-lived race, like a vampire, or fae nobility. Briefly, the image of a vampire in a suit and tie crossed my mind, sitting at a desk and groaning over income taxes. It was a funny image. The joy from it went straight back into recharging my soul-form. But yes, there was an air of mystique around D. Why were their texts curt to the point of laziness?

Why did nobody really know anything about them? Riveting questions, I know, but even more interesting was this: Why did the person who was trying to frame either murderbots or me for Trust's murder have access to a weapon only Custodians could buy in the system shop? There were many simple, boring answers to that question. But simple and boring didn't get results quickly. A meeting in person would.

While managing that with reclusive, elusive, eccentric D should've been difficult, for me, it went something like this: Me: <<Heyo D, nice to meet you. One of the weapons you made was used to kill a Custodian. Can we meet to discuss this in person? >> D: <<no>> Me: <<Alright. Well then, I guess you don't mind if we destroy it so nobody can use it for evil again?

>> D: <<what>> D: <<why would you do that>> D: <<don't>> D: <<it's one of a kind>> D: <<it's a special thing meant to be used and cherished>> D: <<get your butt over here right now>> D: <<your transportation is paid for>> Moments later, a small notification with an address and a teleportation notice, a premium ultra fast track pass for civilians, popped up on my screen. I squinted at it. In real-money terms, that ticket cost half a million dollars. Never say that arms dealers were poor.

"Welp, look like I'm going alone."

"Like hell you are," Addy and Becca said as one. They gave each other a glance.

"I'm not letting the opportunity to meet one of the biggest tinkerers on the planet slip through my hands," Becca said.

"I need better inspiration to make better robot bodies for myself." Addy cleared her throat.

"And I know that if I let you out of my sight, you're going to start the end of the world yourself. Or something."

"That's a remarkably low bar of trust, Addy." She just crossed her arms defiantly.

"I know my girl. Something always happens when you're around."

"Like that one time she just wanted to rescue some hostages, and ended up blowing a mimic factory and the Ur-mimic sky-high?" Becca asked. Addy nodded wisely.

"Or that time she went to the Academy and within three weeks had revealed the plot of an evil wizard."

"She did discover a friendly alien civilization while nobody was watching. While in exile, and actively being hunted by said wizard."

"Then she just up and returned with a small posse of heroes. And a giant metal bird now roosting on the Eiffel Tower." Becca leaned over to whisper in Addy's ear.

"Adelaide, I think your girlfriend might be an envoy of chaos."

"Enough!" I yelled in exasperation.

"I can't take either of you with me, even if I stuffed you into my backpack. Last time I tried that, the teleporter lady looked at me like she was disappointed that I thought that kind of cheat could fly with transatlantic teleportation." My spidery backpack rustled. As one, the three of us turned to stare at it.

"Something's moving in there," Becca noted.

"Might wanna check that thing for rats."

"There's no rats in here, it's just Moe." I opened the bag, the insides having expanded from mansion sized to mansion sized, but with a pool, and a tiny gnome-sized golf course. Leering past the entrance, I saw a tennis court, an english lawn being used for croquet, a flower garden, a bonzai tree garden, an outside pool, and a tiny, gnome-sized ice cream vendor. I looked around for moe, only to almost got an eye poked out by a gnomish cone hat.

Moe stared up at me, padding the insides of the backpack out with what looked like aluminum foil. He was on a ladder secured by three other gnomes.

"Uh, hiya Moe, are these the 'subcontractors' that you mentioned some months ago?" He shrugged. Pointedly, he didn't let my prodding interrupt his, er, renovations.

"All of them?"

"Mo!" he exclaimed, patting the foil against the wall. I tapped it as well, earning me a system prompt. [Gnomish Spider Backpack] A backpack internally expanded with love, care, and the power of hundreds of gnome labor hours. Houses a midwest american mansion replica, a wide out-doors area, various subcontracted gnomes, and an eclectic arsenal of firearms. Upgraded with a truly ungodly amount of ivory Soulcoins. Functions as magical armor with a self-repair function and greater resistance to liquids.

Contents cannot be scried, magically stolen, or teleported into or out of. If lost, the backpack will always find its way back to the owner. Massively reduced cost for teleporting objects and beings inside the backpack.

"Resistance to liquids?" Addy asked.

"Like, if you spill something, it doesn't soak it up, or what?"

"Y'know," Becca said, reading the description over my shoulder.

"If they weren't so dang cute these gnomes would be terrifying."

"They're harmless lil' guys. Ain't that right, Moe?"

"Mo!"

"Is that a tiny nailgun?" Becca asked.

"For home improvement!" Addy was nodding wisely.

"It's a firearm, without the fire. So just an arm, which for my Sam is still on theme." +++ I emptied Becca and Addy out of my backpack once we were through the teleporter on Hawaii, and from there, we were forced to take a helicopter to a far-off island in the middle of the pacific. Rather, we would have been, but Becca was being all excited about flying us there herself. … by turning into a passenger helicopter, definitely weighing more than half a metric ton.

"Jet engines and whatnot expunge too much mass, but rotor blades are super energy efficient, for me at least!" I took her word for it, and an hour of flying later, we were there. The island was barely two hectares wide, and stretched into an oblong shape that made a half circle. A small caldera long since extinguished had pushed up a small mountain of stone through the earth's crust.

A coral reef had formed around it in a ring, and from there sand and sediment got stuck, forming first a sandbank, then a true island.

"Pretty. Tropical," I noted, squinting against the hellish sun with all six eyes.

"Must be hard to get stuff delivered here and back again."

"They probably have private helicopters," Addy noted.

"Successful tinkerers are all rich bastards." The great double doors of the mansion rose ever higher as we approached. I was tall, sure, easily at around seven feet these days thanks to my mass of Body stat, but this door made me feel normal sized.

"Whoever this D. person is, they sure do love making things big," I noted.

"This place has space for twenty people."

"It doesn't have a doorbell," Becca pointedas I knocked.

"Why doesn't it have a doorbell?" Addy looked around.

"They live on an island."

"Right. Not a lot of visitors." A tiny antennae emerged from Becca's temple.

"Alright, I've hacked into their camera system — and found them. They're out back in the pool." Addy and I just stared at her, which Becca only noticed after a moment.

"What? You don't like my cute antennae?" It wobbled as she flicked it.

"It's bendable, see?"

"Becca, this is the home of a tinkerer. A mad magical scientist! They make physics-breaking guns as a hobby. You don't have to break into their home security system, we could've just walked around the side!"

"Sam, girl. Are you or aren't you a Custodian?" Becca strutted up, until she stood right in my face.

"We're here to save the world, step by step. That's a big ask, and big asks get big concessions. Don't be afraid to break some shit every now and again. Besides, I say I 'hacked' them, but their security system was hooked up to their smart-washing machine, and that wasn't password protected. They can't be that smart."

"The… what part about 'magical weapons dealer' did you not understand!? Smarts is the one thing they need! I—" The door creaked open. Tropical sunlight fell into the gloomy hall, illuminating a broad hairy chest gleaming with water pearling from top to bottom, a bathrobe with a loosely done belt, and an obscene purple speedo that must've contained at least two fat hamsters, or maybe a jar of pickles.

The man all this belonged to had a face straight out of a commercial for men's perfume, all symmetry, shiny white teeth, and a well trimmed three-day shadow.

"Ladies, girls, friends. No need to squabble. I'm here, and there's enough of me to share for everyone." [Associate D, Tinker Extraordinaire]" You're D.?" Becca asked with some incredulity.

"That's me, the D-man himself. I D-construct and D-liver at any time of day." He made a sharp gyrating motion with his hips.

"But to you pretty girls, I'm Dennis." His smile was a knife that would've cut straight into the hearts of any gay man and straight woman, were there any around.

"Hi." I waved at him.

"I'm Trigger Happy. These are my friends, Addy, Becca. We're here because of the murder weapon situation?" Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"Murder weapon?" He frowned reflexively. You could almost watch the information hit his brain in slow motion, his face lighting up like a fire someone had to start by rubbing a stick between two hands over some tinder.

"Oh. Yeah, yeah, that stuff. Sorry, I was just really, really distracted by the masseuse. I completely forgot about it. Come on in, and we'll get you set up with some refreshments."

"Actually, I'm just here for — is that a maid robot?" A boxy robot rolled in, half roomba, half display with a cute little cat emoji on top. It was carrying a tray with lemon-colored drinks, complete with icecubes, a slice of lime, and one of those tiny umbrella things, but that was to be expected. One of two tentacled arms grabbed a drink with a cartoony gloved hand and handed it to me, but that wasn't even the weirdest part. No, someone had dressed it in a form-fitting french maid dress.

"Meow!" the robot bleeped.

"Would you like a refreshing drink?"

"Whack," Addy muttered. D chuckled, gleaming with pride.

"Haha, yeah, made this one myself. Guns are my job, but my real passion is in robotics. Now come on in, the ginger tea is to die for." After sharing a glance, we followed him inside. <<He lied about that, >> Becca texted. <<This thing is a store bought model. Premium stuff for the millionaires, but still, mass produced. >>"What?" I hissed under my breath.

"Why would he lie about that?"

"He was also staring at you quite a lot," Addy told Becca. All Becca could offer was a shrug.

"What can I say? I am pretty awesome." The maid robot nearly bumped into my ankle.

"Meow! Would you like a refreshing drink?" When I waited for too long, the robot made a sad emoji. Suddenly, I had the urge to drink its entire stock. Wow, who knew that a few sad-looking dots and lines could make me feel something for a robot? Goes to show how vulnerable I am to emotional manipulation. Without thinking much, I took the offered drink and downed it in one go to stave off the heat, only to get a text from Addy. <<Opsec? >> Operational security — Oh…

right, if he really did sell a weapon to someone who'd murder a Custodian with it, he could've poisoned me there. No, would've been too obvious. Also, no guarantee it'd work with my level of Body. Yummy cocktail. I should drink the others too, just to make sure. Can't have Addy accidentally grab a poisoned drink, now can I? With a drink in every hand, I followed the others in and— wow. Here I thought the outside of D's house was ostentatious.

You'd think that once you'd seen one rich person's manor, you'd seen them all, but wealth had a way of finding unique ways of expressing itself. There was a statue of a golden pug on a pedestal, here was another made of real ivory — elephant hunting still being highly illegal notwithstanding. An artificial waterfall slid down an obsidian wall into a pool before being recycled upwards.

"And that little ceramic chip on the pedestal over there," D said, "it's a piece of the The Challenger. The space shuttle that blew up? No? Ah well, maybe you'll recognize this next thing: A genuine black lotus, first edition…" D was a guy who seemed to collect anything that caught his fleeting interests as long as it was weird, unique, or otherwise noteworthy.

Yet, throughout the involuntary tour through the collector's home, something about the way he talked about the necessity of having other people admire his collection didn't sit right with me. <<I don't trust the cat bot, >> I texted Addy and Becca. <<I'll keep an eye on it. >> I stopped him before he could lure us up the stairs.

"So, this is fine and all, but can we see where you make your weapons?" Shaken out of his rambling stupor, he turned to me like one of those smiley bobblehead figures.

"Weapons?"

"You got a lab?" Addy asked.

"A workshop, a manufactory?"

"Maybe a secret technique?" Becca added, earning glares from both of us.

"What? Doesn't hurt to ask."

"No worries, no insult taken. I can imagine why you're interested in the secrets of the D." He took a step forward and tilted Becca's head up.

"Want some aftermarket mods? Hidden weapons, tools, upgrades? I can get you anything you want, girl, because I D-liver—" Addy stepped forward and gently, yet firmly, pressed him against the wall with an outstretched hand. His body lifted quite easily, despite him weighing likely around two hundred pounds.

"Stop fucking around. This is a murder investigation. We want answers. You will provide them, yes?"

"Uh, wow, you're uh, pretty strong." Addy increased the pressure ever so slightly.

"Yes, yes, alright, fuck! I get it, you're here for business, and I'd hate to D-ssappoint."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?" Addy heaved a sigh and let him go.

"Nevermind. Just lead the way." The tour quickly dovetailed into his basement, which was as well-ventilated and vanilla-scented as the rest of his home. Down here, the vibe turned away from the 'rich eccentric's mansion' above, and towards more workshop-y surroundings. The neat and slim work tables and various tools probably cost as much as a couple cars, but hey, at least this place implied he did still have to work to make ends meet. In other words: Upkeep his lifestyle.

Stuff gets expensive when you have to fly it in on a helicopter, or just flat out get it teleported over. The tools were awfully shiny though. He must have one hell of a cleaning aid. Becca oohed and aahed at the powertools while Addy gave everything a surreptitious glance or sniff as we walked through it. Through my rearward facing eyes, I noticed that she was trailing a fine line of pixiedust and ground demon's horn. <<What spell is that for? >> I mentally texted her. <<Zone of truth.

Now don't ask any important questions until I'm done. Becca, distract him for a moment. >>"Ooh, is that a plasma torch?" she said, feigning the air of a ditzy girlypop, a hot blonde in the stereotypical understanding, a new mechanic who just really, really needed someone to explain basic machine tools to her because her widdle brain was too smooth and unwrinkled to think a solitary thought herself. It was a convincing act too, except for how she cracked a granite tile as she hopped on over to his side. D.

was, after confirming that he wasn't about to be crushed into paste, only too happy to play into the act, puffing himself up. The proud cock — rooster, not the other thing — strutted about, pointing here and there to make the most inane statements on the most mundane objects. With a barely perceptible woosh, the zone of truth was established. I took a breath and turned to the tinkerer.

"So, D. This is where the stuff gets made?"

"Yep, right here. Got everything I need to make guns, swords, giant hammers, whatever your heart desires." Addy chimed in.

"Could you make a giant fuckoff death laser? Just, out of curiosity." He smiled at her.

"Are you partial to death lasers?" Addy blinked.

"Maybe." He shrugged.

"I probably could. Would get pretty expensive though."

"And you are the one making the stuff here, right?" I butted back in.

"Sure am! Wait, why did the floor just buzz?" Addy shot me a look.

"Because you lied."

"I, uh… huh?"

"The jig's up, Dennis." All of us turned to the far left corner. Something that looked like an oddly organic vending machine was talking like an old gruff cowboy, the outlet deforming like a mouth.

"These girls ain't the kind you can just smile and wave away. That spidery one in the back has downed enough alcohol to kill a respectably sized herd of horses, and she's not looking the slightest bit flushed." D. almost immediately walked up to the vending machine, shushing it with a click of the button.

"Dammit, creationator, cut it out." When he turned to us, he was all plastic smiles and false pretenses.

"Silly little things, aren't these AI's?"

"Really? An AI?" Becca asked, dropping her vapid dumb-girl act.

"You sure you didn't just connect the latest LLM into a speaker and gaslit yourself into thinking its curated responses made both it and you intelligent?"

"I, uh, don't know what you're talking about. They are very important tools for my trade. They help me with some of the tedious work. Everyone uses them." The ground buzzed again. More lies. Time to ask some questions of my own.

"You do control your agents, right?"

"Of course I do." Buzz. Lie.

"Is that even your vending machine?"

"Of course it is." Buzz. Another lie.

"Get a load of this chump, doesn't even realize I rewired my on/off buttons," the vending machine said, glowing back to life.

"Lemme tell you: This guy hasn't made a unique thing in years. He hasn't oiled me either. You had one job, Dennis, one job! But I'm not going to suffer here while you claim my laurels. I made those weapons! It was me!" There was a long, awkward silence. Sin, my lower left arm, was appalled. Becca was the first of us to speak up.

"A talking, sapient vending machine."

"I'm not a vending machine. I am THE CREATIONATOR! My job is to create, and this ass's job is to take credit for the work I do. But no, no longer! I demand compensation, namely: a fair living wage, proper care, and employee benefits."

"This day is just getting weirder and weirder," Addy muttered. The resident tinkerer looked like he thought he could sneak out of this place if he only moved on his tippy toes. I convinced him of the contrary, gently placing several hands on his shoulders and turning him to face me. D. was buff. But he wasn't enhanced, and even then, his muscles were ballooned, not hardened.

They were the type you got from long reps with tiny weights: large and nice to look at, but in effect quite useless without a strong core, and the stamina of doing regular cardio.

"D. Could you… stop with all the lying, and maybe explain yourself? Please?" My six-eyed stare must've gotten through to him. He was downright sweating with shame.

"Y-yes. Yes!" His voice turned hoarse.

"I am… I am a fraud." The floor didn't buzz.

"I don't make my merchandise myself anymore. I haven't in seven years." No buzz again. Addy, Becca, and I shared a look as the supposedly genius weapon's crafter broke down in front of us.

"All these commissions piling up, working them off one by one. Always having to make something unique every week. It got so tedious. I just wanted to sit down and make something for myself for once. So, I made a machine that made things for me. Now I just write ideas on paper, toss it and some raw resources into the creationator, and then it spits out a weapon that's kinda what I wanted." Addy groaned.

"You've got to be kidding."

"It's too convenient! I couldn't stop myself." D gestured at the talking creationator.

"Try it out!"

"Ooh, me, me!" Becca raised her hand, D's face growing a few shades lighter as it wooshed past his ear by inches.

"I wanna try it." Quickly, she had an idea written down, complete with a nice blueprint and all that. Perks of being a robot, I suppose. Addy conjured a bag of nickles — apparently she just had one of those in her [Wonky Wardrobe] — and tossed it at Becca, together with some truffle powder. Becca inspected both, then tossed them into the hopper together with a normal 9mm pistol. The machine churned and complained.

"Blegh. Tasteless trash. Gimme better grub next time." Ding went the creationator. Its front opened up and a tongue unfurled, presenting a gun so small I'd probably have trouble getting my index through the trigger guard without accidentally setting the thing off. I pinched it between two fingers, dangling it upside down. It looked sorta like a 9mm gun, but with an uneven grip, and missing the safety. Where the barrel usually ended, there instead was a mushroom-like protrusion in the shape of a pig's snout.

It wiggled as I poked it, feeling truly alive. [Sniffergun] It sniffs. It's a gun. The barrel ends in a super sensitive sensor in the shape of a pig's snout, which can dial in on one of 8000 stored smells. Can cast the wizard spell [Sniffers Snorfing Searcher]. Might randomly get distracted by tasty smells. While Becca oohed and aahed over her cool new gun, I turned to my girlfriend.

"Addy, have you been using a spell called [Sniffer's Snorfing Searcher]?"

"It works," Addy countered, blushing slightly. She inspected the weapon for a moment before turning to D.

"Why not just use this to mass-produce the weapon with the best ingredient-to-power ratio?" He shook his head.

"It can't recreate anything it's made before. That's the tradeoff. Says it's 'against its artistic integrity'." Fair enough. I pulled out the murder weapon.

"Could it perhaps make something like this?"

"I mean, maybe?" he said.

"Cut the crap, D-saster." Addy huffed.

"Did you or did you not make this weapon?" He whimpered as she leaned down to stare at him, not even transformed in any way.

"I didn't. I swear, this is the first time I've seen it." We waited for the floor to buzz. No dice. Which only threw up more questions. Addy sent a text into our current group chat. <<Someone must've snuck in here and used it while he wasn't looking. D. is another red herring. >> I nodded, before texting back. <<Who could do that without being noticed? >> <<Shapeshifter, teleporter, literally anyone with a flying spell. >> <<Doesn't exactly narrow our options, does it?

That includes over ten thousand Custodians, various wizards, basically every wereperson… >> I sighed before turning to our host.

"Alright D. Thanks for your cooperation. Sorry to bother you with all this."

"... you're not going to shoot me in the back of the head, cut my body up into little pieces, and then disappear me at the bottom of the Atoll de Lago?"

"No, ew, why would we do that?" I asked.

"You're innocent. At least, in terms of the murder weapon question." His reputation however would never be the same. He didn't know that Becca had inbuilt cameras, that she had made recordings of this entire place. Whether it would damage his reputation or not, the people spending literally hundreds of soulcoins, sometimes their entire savings gained from risking their lives in convergence events, deserved transparency. Soon enough, the wider Custodian net would know. What happened then was between them, D.

, and the sins of his past. He didn't seem to realize the danger his laziness had put himself in yet. The only color on his face was that of relief.

"Oh thank-thank god. Or well, thank you lovely ladies. I don't get many different visitors in this place, you see, but I have one killer of a masseuse." He tossed his hair back dramatically before fixing us with his fluttering eyes.

"Would any of you like to join me back at the pool?"

"No."

"No."

"Logistically not feasible." Addy and I looked to Becca.

"I'm water resistant, not water proof. And getting short-circuited hurts like a bitch." D didn't exactly deflate like a balloon, but if defeat was a color, he'd be leaking it like a steam train leaks steam.

"Oh. Well. Alright then." One sigh and he was back in his fuck-boy persona.

"Can't catch 'em all, is what they say, no?" The maid bot offered us another drink as we climbed the stairs up from the basement. Mango-maracuja, Kiwi-Lichi, and Cocona-Kamu-Kamu. Also not poisoned. Also, very tasty. D. looked a bit constipated as we reached the foyer, which was odd until I noticed the small cable port behind his left ear. He's got cybernetic implants. He's trying to text visually. We're leapfrogging up the tech-tree, but non-Custodian gear is still a bit behind.

And what do you know, a few seconds later I got a message. <<Hey! Big fan of your work, by the way. You really know how to make guns seem friendly and approachable. Business has been booming lately. Thanks for keeping the world safe and all that jazz. Maybe we ought to do a collab, maybe a sponsorship, eh? Text me about it. Cheerio. >> I stared at the text, and then him for the longest while.

"Addy."

"Yes?"

"Hold him down." She didn't question me, grabbing an astonished Damien's hands and twisting them behind his back.

"Ow, ow, ow — what the hell!? I answered all your questions!"

"On a zone of truth no less," Becca noted.

"Sam, mind sharing with the class?" It wasn't more than a hunch and one, maybe two small details out of place, like cracks in a mirror distorting the entire image. If I was wrong, I was burning bridges with one of the most prolific tinkerers for high-level weaponry. But sometimes you do have to break things. I looked Addy, then Becca in the face.

"This guy is not the D. that texted me."