We at Afterverse Studios recognize that due to current events, there is very little appetite for a story like Nihilus Rex. Similarly, due to the subject matter of said story, it has grown increasingly difficult over the last several months for us to continue writing it at the level of quality we expect from ourselves.
Our extremely active lives and schedules, combined with the challenges of our first truly co-written project have only compounded the issue, and we’ve increasingly come to suspect that Nihilus Rex may not be well suited to our usual episodic format to begin with. As such, we are stepping back from the project and placing it on indefinite hiatus.
Nils and Lash have some nice, healthy communication. Also, more jokes about mind games and preparation to deal with their enemy, rival and possible ally. As a behind the scenes note, yes, Ottendorf, Altendorf, and Altdorf are all real variants of the same type of cipher, and me and @canyouhearthelight arguing about which one was most in character to use was actually part of the gag that just went into this chapter.
Sometimes it's fun writing hopelessly OP characters where we just get to nod obliquely at all the shit our nerdy asses have picked up over the years.
You better be careful what you do
I wouldn't wanna be in your shoes
If they ever found you out
You better be careful what you say
It never really added up anyway
I got friends in this town
Miranda Lambert, “White Liar”
Nils
Class was boring - I mean, it would have been interesting, especially the political debate that came inherent in the macroeconomic discussion of regulation - but frankly with everything else going on and the plans Lash and I were hatching it felt almost beneath notice. Like a waste of time before we got to the real action.
Our weeb friend was a smarmy son of a bitch, I had to give him that, and trying to trace him took work - one of the other reasons that I was just as happy to use the challenge and draw him to us. If it worked, it let us keep flying under the radar and gave us a layer of plausible deniability, and if worst came to worst it handed us a convenient option for another patsy if he proved less than tractable. Lash and I would have to be careful in our eventual conversation with him in how we phrased everything to make sure statements could be read to assume that he was pissed that we were taking credit for his ideas to set it up properly, but it could be done with good planning. Recruit if we could, cash out the option to get the Feds off our backs if we couldn’t - because we were going to need to deal with the fibbie at some point either way.
I shared the thought with Lash to get her thoughts, and see if we could begin establishing how we wanted to lay in that contingency. “Hey, so it occurs to me, if we can’t recruit this guy, we may want to have some kind of setup to feed him to the feds when we encounter him, let them think we were just doing some dumb, edgy marketing for our totally-legal activism and the actual ‘economic terrorist’ got pissed at us for trying to take the credit. If we can’t get him on our side, better not to have him in the way, right?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment - or more accurately, like she was plotting - before asking slowly, “How likely would we be to frame him for some of the shit we’ve done? Even just stuff we did before we met?”
“I’d have to look at his profile a little more closely, but bear in mind that the hack itself doesn’t really match the profile of either of our usual patterns, and nothing we did before that rises to the level where the federal government cares enough to pay attention.”
“I took money from Microsoft and donated it to charity,” she pointed out. “Repeatedly. That would definitely land on the news, at least.”
“Right,” I said, taking a breath, trying to steady myself, “and let’s not get into my thefts from social media and various databombings on their harvested userdata, BUT that followed a very different profile than the bank job, which is what we knew drew their attention - they’re looking for the people who’d run the bank job, not people who are little more than thieving horseflies buzzing around the heads of corporate titans and taking a few drops here and there that said corporations never notice enough to report.” It was an unpleasant truth - we’d stolen probably tens of thousands between us, but not all at once, and in increments that the corporations we’d robbed could lose to rounding error.
“Hey, you said you wanted him fed to the Fed, not to go down for the loans,” she shrugged. “Wire fraud across state lines is still FBI-worthy. Not to mention that many counts.” Lash started silently ticking off on her fingers before staring at them and nodding. “Yeah, plenty of counts, for sure.”
“Fair. I’m worried they’re looking for the bank robbers and we have someone we can give them as a patsy. So when we meet with him, let’s feel him out and make sure any statements we have are set up so they can be misread as him trying to find out if we’re stealing credit for his work, yeah?”
“Can do.” She snapped off a sarcastic salute before grabbing my elbow and semi-forcing me to slow down. “Either way, our ‘viral marketing campaign’ is ready to go as soon as you set up the location for the final clue. So, make sure your sandbox is as secure as possible so we don’t get any bugs in there.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I’ll have it ready in an hour. Want me to order some pizza while I do it?” I had an extra tab open while I was getting the proxy networks set up and sketching out the ciphers for the clues.
“One meat lovers, one spinach and bacon, coming up,” she agreed, pulling out her phone. “Don’t forget to write down the address for me once it’s ready so I can translate it a couple times and hide it in the last clue.”
“Yeah, babe, I know, we’ve been picking at this for a minute.” I said, softly smiling. I wondered if she knew she talked to me the way her mom talked to her dad. I had almost finished the third cipher we were going to be doing it with. “Think three will be enough, or should we do four? At five it feels obnoxious, but if he wasn’t too paranoid to be hooked with fewer than three, he’d be a piece, not a player.”
“Forty five minutes until food,” Lash announced before looking up. “I’m going to translate it at least twice - once to hex and once to… I dunno, a sound frequency maybe? So four should be fine on your end for the ciphers.”
“You got it. Altdorf code it is.”
“Altendorf,” she corrected, scrunching her face at what she thought was a deliberate mistake on my part.
“Nope. Altdorf. Right wing computer nut, probably also a gamer. Altdorf code is a memetic variant on the classic Altendorf book cipher, named for a thing in a game franchise popular with that crowd.” I replied, smirking. Dating a girl who knew as much cryptography as I did was a blast, but it was occasionally fun to flex on each other. Loved it when she caught me out, as she often did, but it was sometimes fun to catch her off too.
“Freaking nerd,” she half-mumbled, knowing good and well I would hear her. “But if it works, it works. Provided he figures out all the clues I’m laying out.”
“And then we put all this effort into this to show off for each other for nothing…” I muttered, watching her work over what she did as I finished up selecting a handful of games, books, and comics to cipher off of, with arc numbers for each and internally contained clues within the cipher to hint at what the target should be using for the Altdorf code. Nonsensical to anyone who didn’t understand it, but comprehensible to anyone who did - if you understood the rest of the cyphers it was under, of course.
“Ew, eyewatering,” she grunted before adjusting something. It must have worked, because she was able to actually look at the screen when she was done. “And now for the clouds…”
“Those clouds look awful.” I said, idly thinking out loud. “Really bloated, data-wise.”
“That would be because they are compressed audio tracks,” she confirmed. “Which, when unzipped and played, give the hex code. But yeah, they’re ugly, aren’t they?” The door buzzed and she looked at her phone. “Pizza’s here.”
“Ah.” I stood up and got the pizza, tipping the guy. After he left I turned back to Lash. “So, now we wait. Trap is baited and set with a challenge for a new ally or an enemy we can get rid of quickly. Speaking of the question as to what we do if he is a new ally: thoughts on how we get rid of the fed? She’s poking around the white supremacist scene, and stirring them up harder might lead to more of them poking around if she gets shot.”
Lash rubbed her face before getting up to get plates. “My first instinct is to lay low and monitor. Right now, there’s no actual evidence tying us to the situation, so monitoring would be the most conservative and safest call in the immediate future. And it gives us time to plan something in the event we do need to intervene.”
I nodded as I poured drinks for both of us. “Yeah. Fair point. Give him about two days, then we’ll meet him together. Two options, either he thinks the whole made up names thing is actually bullshit, in which case he’ll want to meet both of the people he’s working with and we can establish a triumvirate, or he thinks it’s for real and is playing like he thinks it's dumb, then he’ll want to meet with the heads of both groups, which means we’ll need you there to rep one of them. What angles we play depends on what angle he hits us with.” I was still thinking about the way we could feel that out while also maintaining the option to sacrifice him and dispose of him to the feds if he wasn’t amicable to a team up, but honestly that was mostly just a matter of careful phrasing.
“If it comes to that, as long as I am repping the Icono-whatsits, I’m good.”
“No, I thought we’d have the brown, anarchic immigrant’s daughter represent the carefully crafted illusion of the violently traditionalist ones who want to restore ‘traditional values’ because that would totally make the con hold up. Tell you what, when we take it global, and we have to do this in India, THEN we swap roles and you have to play a Hindutava nationalist and pretend to be a Disciple chick. For today, the heel role is mine.”
She set her plate down with a loud clatter, glaring at me as she stood up. “And on that completely uncalled-for note, I think I need to head home for a few days. Let me know if he gets in contact, and we’ll go from there.”
I sighed, realizing what I’d done wrong, then felt a surprising flash of irritation - at her, at myself, at the fact that every time we started getting closer I said something obnoxious and that we never just got a few weeks without some shit happening. “You know what? Yeah. I’m sorry. That was unnecessarily rude. If you want to go home, I get it, but please eat first, or at least take some pizza with you. I shouldn’t have been that much of an asshole - I’ve been jittery since the Fed showed up, and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. Know you can’t pass yourself off as a white supremacist, I mostly wanted to joke around about the fact that as this goes global, we may have to practice swapping roles for other countries. That’s all.”
Lash took a deep breath and picked up one of the pizza boxes. “I know it will eventually be necessary for me to be the bad guy, but seriously. What part of this,” she waved a hand over herself, stopping to gesture emphatically at her face, “in any way says I won’t just blow our entire ass cover if I try to be a white supremacist? It’s not like I’m shirking work or something.” The free hand shoved her hair back and she exhaled. “I think we just need a couple days to get actual sleep and calm down.”
“You aren’t shirking work, I know.” I said, trying to take a breath. “I’ve just been…I’ve been constantly trying to figure out every possible angle we can take this from, because I want to keep us out of trouble and keep the feds away, keep this prick away from your family, keep everything under control. I said something sarcastic that I thought was funny because yeah, obviously this,” I gestured at her, “was not going to be playing the white supremacist, this,” I gestured at my own face, “was. And I wasn’t looking forward to it. And it isn’t your fault I’ve been obsessively plotting, I haven’t been telling you all of it, but it’s been all of the babbling about contingencies I’ve been doing since the fed arrived. Because I’ve been afraid. And I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” True, but I did also want her to see my perspective of how much effort I was putting into this whole thing. “And if you need me to give you a ride home tonight, I will, but seriously take a pizza. Because it’s too late for you to be walking home.”
The pizza box in her hand dropped back to the table and she growled in frustration. “UGH! And all the shit with Uber and taxis lately…” She fell back into what had become her seat on the couch. “Fine. But I’m sleeping out here. In clothes, so don’t get any ideas, buster.”
“We didn’t have time to go mattress topper shopping, so you’ll probably sleep better, and I’m insisting on plenty of blankets. And you’re eating your share of pizza.” I shrugged. “And even my Catholic ass won’t feel guilty about you being too damn stubborn to take a ride I’m offering.”
“No ride. I refuse to owe you,” she spat before biting viciously into a slice of pizza, shoving half of it into her mouth without a trace of grace.
“And thus, couch, blankets, and coping aplenty.” I said, sitting down. “You okay, Lash?”
“I am sleep deprived, stressed about the apartment being ready when my parents are discharged next week despite knowing that Mori has had it ready since the day after she got here, and I’m mad at you for being a jerk.”
“Mori took care of the apartment, you know it, you know you know it. You’re going to sleep better tonight, and I’m sorry for being a dick.” I said, coaxingly. “Things are going to be alright. Let’s eat, brush our teeth, then we can rack out, okay?”
“Fine,” she muttered, demolishing another slice of pizza.
I wasn’t certain what it said about my life - or life, in general - that “relationship issues” were causing me slightly more confusion and headaches than “FBI investigation” and “rival terrorist” combined. It definitely said something, but I wasn’t entirely certain what. Maybe it was a me problem. Maybe if I wasn’t dating someone who would do terrorism with me I wouldn’t have this problem.
This is a character design or my friend’s ( @idomybest12 ) au. This is afterverse (post-incident) dream or in this au his nickname is phoenix. If you want to know more about them my friend will post more about the au soon.
Spoilers and art for later in the story below cut
The black thing on his left side is his arm, it’s all corrupted/shadowy.
I made a short comic based on the Hymn of Trials from Arcadian Inquisition by @baelpenrose a while back (also has some references to Miys by @canyouhearthelight)
Lyrics to the original song can be found here (imbedded)
[Deep beneath a churning static-storm dervish scouring the surface above, two errant dead plumb the ruined depths of an ancient, mostly-buried skyscraper.]
The gunslinger, Foxhunting, stoops low, peering between the slats of a vent hatch. He squints, eyes straining against the dark veil within.
“I think this could be our way in.”
“Front door’s too good for you?”, his companion chides. Foxhunting begins to work the corroded bolts at the corners of the hatch. His fingers slip.
“Ah, no,” he pauses, fumbling to pull a multi-tool from some hidden pocket, “It’s trapped.” The gunslinger gestures to the sleek panel door without turning his attention from the vent beside it. A wrench head springs from the tool with a pneumatic clack. “Etched in the corner. Top left.”
His companion’s gaze follows the tool to the point indicated, “A hand?”
“Seven fingered. Old Moirai icon.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“Blowback from cracking that open without an authorized aura would be...”, he trails off, popping the rust of the first bolt with a twist.
“Would be...?”
“Hm? Oh. Catastrophic. Really bad time.”
“We’re functionally immortal.”
Foxhunting works the second bolt, “Mmhmm.”
His companion lets the grunt hang in the air. The third bolt clatters to the floor, then the fourth. Finally, breaking the silence, “So, what’s your plan here? Unless you’re an absolute twig under all that kit, I don’t think you’re gonna manage to squeeze in there.”
“Still have that familiar?” The gunslinger opens the hatch and regards his companion, staying hunched.
“The homunculus? Yeah, why?”
“Whole vault is gonna be warded, whether the intruder waltzes in the front, or — godforbid — tries cramming themself through an air duct. Either way, uh... ‘kerblammo’.” Foxhunting turns back to the vent, throat ticking affect with some subvocalized thought, he continues: “But! I suspect that because this arcana predates the Fey intrusion,” he shines a light from the butt end of the multi-tool into the vent, collapsing the wrench with his thumb, “it won’t be designed to see him.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Fey’s anti-natural, and Moirai tech would only look for a Weave signature. Unless the security was specifically tuned to feel for an abscess at a wavelength they couldn’t have known existed, I don’t think we’re gonna be tripping any alarms here.” Stowing the tool, he holds out a dusty palm, expectant.
His companion rummages around between their transmat pockets until, smiling with success, they pull out an oblong phial containing a particulate black smoke. They twist it open with their teeth, uncorking with a hissing pop, and pour the miasmatic fog into the gunslinger’s hand, causing Foxhunting to shudder with the sensation.
“So we send...”, Foxhunting’s hand tightens around the coalescing shadow’s body as it gains the corporeality sufficient to do so, “What’s your name, little imp?”
LACK, it wheezes.
“So we send Lack in to yank the plug. Have him dismantle the ward from the inside, where we can muss around with the runes holding it together.”
“And that won’t cause a catastrophically bad time for us?”
Foxhunting tosses the imp into the vent and lets the hatch clatter shut behind it, “Shouldn’t, no.”
