HCfC: CH 20: The Fourth Pack

Night had settled over the city. In the quiet of the living quarters, Zero sat cross-legged on the floor, deep in meditation. He focused inward, feeling the currents of his own magical energy, the humming connections to his other selves. The influx of power from the last Gacha pull had settled, and he could feel it now—a new capacity, a space for one more. He could make another clone.

He rose and walked to the small kitchen in the loft, grabbing a tiny paring knife. Without hesitation, he drew the blade across his palm. Dark, crimson blood welled up and dripped onto the floor, pooling into a small, shimmering puddle. As before, the blood began to curl and twist, rising from the floor like a miniature cyclone of liquid flesh and energy. It stretched and solidified, forming a perfect, naked copy of himself.

The clone blinked, looking down at his own hands, then at Zero. "Cool," he said, his voice a perfect echo of Zero's own.

Zero smiled. "Let's go," he said. "We're going to do a Gacha pull right away."

They went downstairs to the café floor. Soma was wiping down the last of the tables. He looked up, saw the new, naked Zero, and threw his hands up in exasperation. "Whoa there! Would you mind putting your dick away from the café floor? It's a place of business!"

"There's no one here but us," Zero replied calmly. "We're closed already."

Soma's eyes lit up. "Oh? Doing Gacha tonight?"

"You betcha," Zero said.

"I call dibs on one," the new clone added, his voice filled with a nascent curiosity.

Zero walked to the cash register, the holographic screen glowing in the dim light. The Gacha points stood at a healthy 4190. He closed his eyes and assumed his prayer stance. The new clone and Soma immediately followed suit.

"Dear Cecil," Zero began, his voice a mix of reverence and complaint. "God of Celestial Paperwork, Divine Intern of Domain 6-A. It is ya boy, your humble servant, Zero Ashworth. We are here to conduct our... well, it's not really monthly, but you get the idea. Your last 'rare' pull was, and I say this with all due respect, absolute garbage. But we're back, with a new brother who needs a card of his own. Please, for the love of all that is holy and properly filed, bless us with something useful. Something powerful. Something that isn't a background character."

"AMEEN!" they all shouted in unison.

"Hey, Gusteau," Soma whispered to the air. "The prayer is essential. Don't knock it."

Zero tapped the [11x Draw] button four times. With a series of satisfying ch-ch-ching sounds, four shimmering foil packs slid out of the register's dispenser. Zero smiled and fanned them out on the counter. "Let's see what we got."

He looked at the cover art, and his smile faltered. The first pack showed Cecil drowning under a literal tidal wave of paperwork. The second had him being chased by a monstrous, roaring creature made of bent staples and paper clips. The third depicted Cecil trying to fix a jammed celestial printer with a giant hammer, tears streaming down his face. The fourth showed him passed out on his desk, drooling on a stack of files labeled "URGENT."

"Oooohhh," Soma said, shaking his head. "That's a bad omen."

"I feel a disturbance in the force," the new clone joked.

"Shut up," Zero grumbled. "Pick the one you want for your first card."

The new clone looked at the four pathetic images, then back at Zero. "Can I... not gamble on my first card, guys?" he asked, his voice reasonable. "I've been alive for like, five minutes. I'd rather not have my entire existence defined by 'celestial printer jam.' Can we just open all of them and I'll choose from whatever character cards we get?"

Zero groaned, slumping over the counter in defeat. "Booo! You're no fun."

He laid the four packs out on the bar, the sad, stressed-out images of Cecil staring up at them. The new clone crossed his fingers, a nervous energy radiating from him. Soma, meanwhile, was already in a deep, one-sided conversation.

"No, Gusteau, a roux for a pancake batter is a terrible idea," he whispered to the air. "It would make it too dense. We need fluffiness, not a savory base... Yes, I know you're French, that doesn't make you an expert on everything."

Zero just smiled, shaking his head. "Alright, let's start with the paperwork tsunami," he said, picking up the first pack.

He tore it open. The first ten cards were the usual fare: [+10 Magical Energy], each dissolving into golden motes that flowed into Zero. The clone watched, his nervousness growing.

Then came the eleventh card. It glowed with a revolutionary, anarchic red.

[V]
Character Origin: V for Vendetta
Traits: A charismatic, eloquent, and theatrical freedom fighter, known for his Guy Fawkes mask and his vendetta against a totalitarian regime. A master of explosives, espionage, and philosophy.

"Oh, it's him!" Soma exclaimed. "The mask guy! Remember that movie?"

Zero's smile faltered, a painful memory surfacing. "Yeah," he sighed. "The one where our date went wrong because I slipped on some spilled soda and fell head-first into a trash bin when we were leaving the theater."

"She left you right there, covered in sticky popcorn and garbage," Soma recalled with a laugh.

"I told you I felt a disturbance," the new clone said, shaking his head.

"Next pack," Zero grumbled, grabbing the one with the staple monster. Again, ten cards of energy flowed into him. The final card glowed with a soft, gentle light.

[Wakana Gojo]
Character Origin: My Dress-Up Darling
Traits: A quiet, earnest high school student with a deep passion and incredible talent for crafting traditional Hina dolls. He is a meticulous artisan, skilled in sewing, design, and painting.

The three of them stared at the card in confusion. "Never heard of him," Soma said.

"Must have been released after we died," the clone deduced.

Zero read the description, a thoughtful look on his face. "Hey, it says he's a great designer and artisan, though. That's a good, respectable path to have. Could be useful."

He moved on to the third pack, the one with Cecil fixing a printer. Ten more energy cards. The final card had a faint, almost pathetic glow. Zero's face immediately curled into an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust. "Oh, hell no."

"What? What is it?" Soma and the clone asked in unison.

Zero flipped the card around, showing them the image of the goofy, long-eared Gungan.

[Jar Jar Binks]
Character Origin: Star Wars
Traits: Naïve and clumsy Gungan. Jar Jar Binks was the first Gungan to represent his people in the Galactic Senate. Binks was also one of Qui-Gon Jinn's companions during the Invasion of Naboo.

"FUCK him," they both said instantly.

"Trash," Soma spat. He then turned to the air. "Gusteau, you are better off not knowing who this cursed being is. Trust me."

Finally, Zero picked up the last pack, the one with the passed-out Cecil. "Last chance," he muttered. He ripped it open. Ten more energy cards vanished into him. He took a deep breath and flipped over the final card.

It exploded with a brilliant, ethereal light, the purest and brightest they had ever seen. The image was of a graceful, sharp-featured elf with long, fair hair and piercing blue eyes, an arrow nocked in his bow.

[Legolas]
Character Origin: The Lord of the Rings
Traits: An Elf prince of the Woodland Realm, son of Thranduil. A master archer with legendary eyesight, superhuman agility, and the grace of the Elven race. A loyal companion and a peerless warrior.

Zero screamed in pure, unadulterated joy. "LETSGOOOO, BABYYY!!"

"Who?! Who is it?!" Soma and the clone shouted, jumping up and down.

Zero triumphantly showed them the card. "It's Legolas! The elf archer!" They all cheered, grabbing each other's hands and dancing in a ridiculous, joyous circle on the café floor.

Zero finally stopped, looking up at the ceiling, tears of happiness in his eyes. "Thank you, Cecil! Thank you! May all your paperwork be processed with the speed of Barry Allen!"

…

Meanwhile, in the royal capital, within the opulent, moonlit atelier that served as the headquarters for the luxury brand Delacroix, a different kind of creative struggle was taking place.

Ysolt Delacroix, the celebrated owner and visionary designer of the brand, sat hunched over a massive mahogany desk. A charcoal pencil flew across a large sheet of parchment, its movements a frantic dance of inspiration. She was sketching a new design for a formal coat, but the lines felt wrong, the proportions awkward. With a sudden, sharp movement, she stopped. She slapped the pencil down, the sound echoing in the silent, cavernous room. With a frustrated hiss, she scrunched the parchment into a tight ball and tossed it onto a growing pile of similarly discarded ideas.

"Goddamn it," she hissed to the empty room.

A young, impeccably dressed assistant entered silently, placing a tall glass of deep red wine on the desk beside her. "Miss," the assistant said softly, "should I cancel the meeting with Baron Rotway for tomorrow?"

Ysolt looked out the floor-to-ceiling window, at the distant lights of the sleeping city. She sighed, running a hand through her already disheveled hair. "No need," she said, her voice weary. "It's already late. Just make sure I wake up on time tomorrow."

"Yes, miss," the assistant replied.

"You can leave," Ysolt added. "I'll be sleeping here."

The assistant just bowed and left the office, closing the heavy doors silently behind her, leaving the designer alone with her creative demons.

Ysolt leaned back in her plush leather chair, her head rocking back as she stared at the high, vaulted ceiling. "What am I missing?" she whispered. "It all feels so... hollow."

Her mind drifted back to a conversation she'd had at a recent royal banquet, surrounded by the other top designers of the kingdom. They spoke not of fabrics or stitching, but of their champions. Their inspirations. Their muses. They spoke of finding that one person whose very being was a work of art, a perfect canvas of grace, posture, and form that was perfectly in-tune with their designs. Someone who didn't just wear the clothes, but gave them life.

She sighed, a long, lonely sound that was swallowed by the grandness of the room. "Oh, gods," she whispered. "When will I meet my muse?"

Exhaustion finally claimed her. Ysolt Delacroix fell asleep in her chair, dreaming not of dresses, but of a graceful, elegant face she had never seen.

…

The next day, three sleek, black rune-cars pulled up to the grand entrance of the Hao Pavilion. One by one, eight heavily built men, all bearing the snarling wolf crest of TCW, stepped out. Their leader, a dwarf with a thick, braided beard and a greedy glint in his eyes, craned his neck back to take in the sheer scale of the thirty-story tower. He was the lieutenant, Difos. A hungry smile spread across his face. "Let's go," he grunted.

As they walked through the ornate doors, Madam Shelara was already descending the grand staircase to greet them, her posture a perfect picture of professional deference. She bowed low.

"Bring me to your boss," Difos commanded without pleasantry. "We are here from The Cardinal Wolves."

Madam Shelara simply smiled and guided them up the stairs. On the sixth floor, she handed them off to Madam Viviane, who then escorted them to the eleventh. On the eleventh, Madam Isabelle took over. The process repeated, a disorienting and impressive display of layered authority, each new Madam more elegant and each new set of floors more opulent than the last. Finally, Madam Seraphina, the overseer of the noble's floors, left them in a lavish, private lounge on the 26th floor—one of the previously unopened Imperial Suites.

"Goddamn it," Difos grumbled, looking around the ridiculously luxurious room. "Was it really necessary to go up this much?"

"Oh my," a sultry voice purred from the side of the room. "Do the men of TCW not have the stamina for a simple trip to the 26th floor?"

Difos and his men turned to see three figures waiting for them. In the center was Misela, the dark elf, looking every bit the ruthless crime lord in a stunning, form-fitting gown. To her left stood the sullen, broken form of Amanzio. And to her right, a tall, imposing man in a veiled hat stood silently, his hands clasped behind his back—the advisor.

"Mistress Misela," Difos said, his crude demeanor instantly shifting to one of oily charm. He took her hand and kissed it. "A pleasure."

She led them to a large, circular table. Difos and four of his men sat, while the other three remained standing, acting as guards. Misela snapped her fingers, and Amanzio wordlessly presented her with a long, elegant cigarette holder. She lit it, took a slow, deliberate inhale, and blew a perfect smoke ring. She could see the TCW men eyeing her courtesans, who were standing by the walls. Difos, in particular, was eyeing her. A flash of cold fury sparked deep within her, 'No one looks at me that way except Master Sebas. How dare he?' but her outward expression remained one of bored amusement.

"So," she said, her voice a low purr. "What is your first impression of our humble establishment?"

Difos chuckled. "One would think you've been in charge of this territory for decades." He glanced at Amanzio. "No offense, of course."

"None taken," Amanzio said flatly, his voice devoid of any emotion.

Several courtesans then entered, bringing trays of expensive liquor and exquisite snacks.

"Girls," Misela said, exhaling another stream of smoke. "Take good care of our guests, alright?" She then turned her gaze to Difos. "I reckon you've come here to see our sincerity, yes?"

Difos chuckled, his eyes roaming over the courtesan who was pouring his drink. "Words are not my strong suit," he said. He then reached out and crudely smacked the courtesan on her backside. "But I can say... you're all being very sincere."

Misela's smile didn't falter. She stood up. "Good," she said. "Then I can expect you to deliver a good word to Guilon." She turned her back on them, and the moment she did, her smile vanished, replaced by a mask of cold contempt. She, Sebas, and Amanzio left the TCW men to their "entertainment."

On the secret 31st floor of the Hao Pavilion, Sebas sat on a luxurious couch. Misela, a picture of adoration, brushed his short, neat beard with her fingertips while clinging to him with all her limbs. Across from them, Amanzio swirled the wine in his glass and sighed.

"Was it really necessary for me to act like such a broken man in front of them?" he grumbled.

"Like it or not," Sebas said, his voice calm, "we must ensure that everyone sees you as an unwilling participant in this scheme. It adds to your credibility."

Amanzio shuddered, the memory of the night Sebas had single-handedly destroyed his old base flashing in his mind. "Boss," he said, his tone turning serious, "just so you know, it will all be an act, okay? I might have to say some... hurtful things about you, about this organization, to sell it. But I'm loyal to you."

Misela, still clinging to Sebas, silently mouthed the word 'pussy' at Amanzio.

He ignored her. In his mind, he was still baffled at how this beautiful, terrifying woman could be so devoted to Sebas. The man was a monster, one of the scariest motherfuckers he'd ever met. 'Though,' he mused, 'I doubt she even knows what he's truly capable of.'

"No need to worry, Amanzio," Sebas said. "Just do your job. You will be our insurance policy, just in case." He then looked down at Misela. "Will you stay here? I am going to meditate."

Misela kissed his neck. "I will guard your meditating body, Master," she whispered.

Amanzio grabbed his bottle of wine. "I'll... I'll go down to the 30th floor, boss." He then left, leaving the two of them alone. Sebas closed his eyes.

…

In the Animus Hub, Sebas's form solidified to the intense stare of Soma. The chef's eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

"You're busy fucking, aren't you?" Soma accused.

Sebas chuckled, a soft, unbothered sound. "It is all a means to an end, Young Master Soma."

"I'll be watching you," Soma said, still not convinced.

"It seems we have another member," Sebas observed, turning his attention to the new clone.

The graceful figure walked forward and offered a hand. "Legolas," he introduced himself.

Sebas shook it. "Sebas," he replied. "I will help you in terms of finance for your start-up."

"Great! We're all here," Zero's voice called out. He snapped his fingers. In an instant, the empty space reconfigured, and a large, polished round table with five chairs shimmered into existence. Zero, Soma, Erwin, Sebas, and lastly, Legolas, all took their seats.

Zero looked around the table at his four brothers, a look of satisfaction on his face. "Welcome," he said, officially opening the meeting. "For our first order of business, allow me to re-introduce our newest brother. He has chosen the name Legolas for his primary card. His path will be to walk the legitimate side of our enterprise. He will combine his second card, that of the master artisan Wakana Gojo, with the peerless grace of an elf to build a luxury brand. This will serve as a much-needed front for our growing finances."

He nodded to Legolas, who returned the gesture.

"And that's it for the introductions," Zero continued. "Now, let's start our... 'monthly' report. Erwin, you're up first. Tell us about the Watchers."

Erwin stood, and as he did, he willed a holographic display to emerge from the center of the round table. An organizational chart of the 7th Precinct shimmered into existence, dozens of portraits greyed out and marked with a red 'X'.

"I started my rookie program today," he began, his voice crisp and clear. "I have been plunged into the middle of the term, but it is not proving to be a challenge. With the Animus Hub, I can review the entire legal codex and training manual in my sleep, and my Conan intellect allows me to absorb the practical lessons instantly."

He gestured to the hologram. "As you can see, Captain Dubois's purge was extensive. The precinct is operating at less than sixty percent capacity. Morale is low among the veterans who remain, and the new standards are causing friction. However, efficiency is up. Response times have improved by fifteen percent. Céline is a competent commander." He then pointed to two portraits that were now glowing a faint green. "Phase one of our plan is also proceeding. The 'rats' have taken the bait and have made contact with The Cardinal Wolves, who believe they have acquired two loyal informants."

He swiped his hand, and the hologram vanished. "That is the current situation. For future acquisitions, I have a request. My current skill set is focused on high-level strategy and deduction. However, I lack capabilities in street-level information gathering, disguise, and infiltration. A card with abilities in subterfuge or social engineering would be optimal."

Soma leaned his head on his arm, a thoughtful look on his face. "Hmmm, let's hope in our next Gacha pull we get a Tintin or a Sherlock Holmes."

"Or a Nancy Drew," Zero added. "We haven't gotten any female cards yet."

"Batman could be great," Legolas suggested, his voice smooth and graceful. "His resources and skills in stealth would be invaluable."

"L from Death Note would be more beneficial for Young Master Erwin's specific needs," Sebas countered, his suggestion focused on pure, unparalleled intellect.

"Okay, okay," Zero said, holding up a hand. "I've noted the list of cards you all want." He manifested the remaining two character cards, which hovered over the table. "But for now, we only have V and Jar Jar. Does anyone here want them?"

Erwin simply shook his head.

"My dragon blood," Sebas stated with the utmost seriousness, "refuses to be in proximity to that Gungan."

Zero shrugged, and the two cards vanished. "Well, is that all, Erwin?"

Erwin nodded. "Yes. That concludes my report."

"Thank you," Zero said, turning his attention. "Now, Sebas."

Sebas stood, and with a gesture, the organizational chart of the Watchers was replaced by another hologram. This one was a fluid, detailed map of the entire Evercrest Duchy, its criminal territories glowing in different colors.

"I have begun encroaching on the Azure Sharkfin's territory around the docks," he reported, his voice even. "The Hao Pavilion is now the dominant power in the red-light district, and we are using its influence and resources to slowly dismantle and absorb the smaller syndicates one by one. The goal for Evercrest is simple: total consolidation of the criminal underworld under our control."

"Does that mean you'll use the Hao Pavilion as your model for other territories?" Zero asked.

"I will not," Sebas replied. "We need our operations to look separate, to ensure our tracks can never be traced back to a single source."

He expanded the hologram. The map zoomed out from the duchy to reveal the entire Kingdom of Averidane. One by one, the other great domains lit up in different colors.

"In the Scorched Plains," he explained, "our front will be a mercenary company. In the Heartland, a merchant's guild. In the capital, a private security firm. They will all have different methods, different goals, and different public faces." He paused, letting the scope of his ambition settle over the table. "But..."

The entire map suddenly shifted, every disparate color turning into a single, brilliant gold.

"...eventually, they will all be under one name. One banner." He looked at Zero. "Nazarick."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Zero's face. "Good," he said simply. "Do you have any cards you want me to look out for?"

"Yes," Sebas replied. "I require a card with abilities suited to nurturing talent. The children in the dojo have potential, but my skills are in combat, not instruction. I need a master teacher to guide their growth into our future assassins and armies."

"Maybe someone like Master Roshi?" Soma suggested. "He's a great teacher! And he's... fun."

"A military commander would be more efficient," Erwin countered. "Someone like Yang Wen-li."

"A spymaster could teach them the subtle arts," Legolas added. "Lord Varys, perhaps."

Zero nodded, taking it all in. "Is that all, Sebas?"

"Yes, Master," Sebas said, nodding as he sat back down.

"Excellent report. So, Legolas—" Zero started.

"Ahem!" Soma cut in, standing up abruptly. "What about me? I also have reports to give."

Zero looked at him, exasperated. "Okay, Soma. Go on. The floor is yours."

Soma puffed out his chest and declared, "The café is running smoothly and profits are up, because my excellent food is irresistible. That's it. Report over."

*Bonk.

Zero smack Soma on the head, forcing him to sit back down. "As I was saying," he continued, a long-suffering sigh in his voice, "Legolas. Go on. What do you need for your start-up?"